


The Man with Two Faces

by roadmagician



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: (literally), Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, M/M, Porn With Plot, Secret Identity, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 24,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7912792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roadmagician/pseuds/roadmagician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy has an "arrangement" with Daredevil. Trouble is, he's in love with Matt Murdock. What to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So instead of working on all the other stuff I'm meant to be writing, THIS is what happened... The damn thing grew like kudzu.
> 
> It's finished, pretty sure it will be about 10 chapters or so by the time I transfer it from notebook to computer.
> 
> Matt and Foggy cannot. fucking. TALK to one another. So if you like fics where the characters passionately make out instead of dealing with their issues, then this is your jam, my friend.

It was just past 10 o'clock in Josie's Bar and the night was starting. Karen and Foggy had persuaded him to take time off with them, and he'd accepted, if only to get them to stop asking questions. The bar was making good business that night. Matt could hear it all. The clinking of the glasses, every slurred conversation, the clack of pool cues on the table that sounded to his ears like a thunderclap. Right down to the hiss of bubbles popping in the beer glass of the guy across the room.

Normally all of this was a cacophony that Matt had to train himself to block out. Tonight, the alcohol made it easier. It dulled sounds and softened everything. He focused instead on the whisper of Karen's soft curls as she shifted forwards, and next to him, the familiar, steady pattern of Foggy's heartbeat.

"I don't get it man," Foggy was saying over his third beer. "You're smooth as hell. Why don't you ever date anyone?"

"I'm busy. I prefer my work," Matt said, smiling over his drink. Which was accurate, and also a lie. He _did_ like Karen and Foggy. It was just that the work that consumed his social life was not exactly legal.

"Oh, you're blaming _us_ now?" Karen snorted. "Sorry, Matty, it's time to stop making excuses. You just don't have game."

Matt had always loved a challenge.

"I _do_ have game. Back me up, Foggy."

"Sure, in college, maybe... but that was just because you were standing next to me. I'd make Freddy Kreuger look sexy."

Matt joined in with Karen's laughter but at the same time he felt bad for laughing. He could tell from Foggy's tone of voice - even when he made jokes - that there was a part of him that really believed that.

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself," Matt said, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. "Marci wouldn't be booty-calling you for nothing. I'm _sure_ you're not ugly."

"That's reassuring coming from a blind guy."

There was the sound of Karen choking on her drink. "Oh my god, Foggy, you can't just say that kind of thing!"

"He loves me for it," Foggy said. "Anyway, seriously Matt. How's the _thing_ going?"

Karen leaned closer. "Oooh, what thing. Tell me more!"

"You know, the supermodel at your apartment," said Foggy, in that tone of his that he always used in poker games.

It took Matt a second to realize who Foggy meant. Claire. He'd stumbled into her as she was leaving one night and Matt had barely had time to stash the mask and blood-soaked bandages in a drawer. He'd made up some bullshit about her being a one-night stand. Thinking of how close they'd come still made him shiver.

"That's not a thing any more," Matt said, with a dismissive wave of his hand, and hoped that would be enough of an answer.

"So... you're not dating?" asked Karen. He heard her reflexive swallow and the faint tremor of her heartbeat pick up. It was something that had been happening more often lately and he wasn't sure what to do with that.

"Too busy," Matt shrugged.

There was a clink as Foggy set down his beer glass. "Man, I don't _get you_. No offense, but how come you can't even hold down a relationship for more than a month. You're like - like - " Foggy spluttered. " _Look at you_ , you're a lawyer, you're like a 10 on the hotness scale-"

"Thanks," Matt said. "Keep going."

"Seriously, Matt. _What is it?_  Do you have a creepy murder basement I don't know about? Do you make them sit there and listen to _The Best of David Hasselhoff_? Do you collect dead insects? I think we need to stage an intervention."

Beside him, Karen collapsed into tipsy laughter.

Matt shrugged. "Like I said. Too busy working with you two charming specimens."

"Oh, you're blaming _us_ now?" said Karen.

"Busy with _what?_ " said Foggy, sounding suddenly irritated. Matt could feel his temperature spike next to him. Probably the alcohol.

"Seriously, busy with what? We barely see you, Matt. This is the first time you've come out with us in, what... three or four months? If you're working on something, it's sure not with us!"

Matt could detect exactly how many standard drinks he'd had on his breath as well as the precise shade of hurt in his voice. He sighed. This was why he'd avoided it for four months - because last time it had turned into an interrogation, too.

"It's got nothing to do with you, Foggy," he said, trying to sound calm, and failing. "Of _course_ I still want to hang out-"

"Well I don't know what's so important that you can't tell your best friend!"

Karen's heartbeat rose again, and she moved between them with a waft of floral perfume. There was the light touch of her hand on his shoulder.

"Guys, please. Look, let's just relax, okay? It's Friday night. Time to have fun!"

He could hear Foggy's sigh. "Yeah... you're right. I'll toast to that. Here's to Friday!" Matt met him halfway and their glasses clinked together. To Matt, the sound rippled out like the brief flash of a lighthouse beam, illuminating the bar and the patrons and the dimensions of the space around him. Just as quickly, it was gone.

From up above, the television hissed with the transmission of electricity. A news report. There was a squeak of worn leather as Karen and Foggy shifted to watch it.

[ _...a victim of an attempted arson attack claims that she was helped by the so-called 'Devil of Hell's Kitchen!' Arya Vodyanovya was eager to defend the masked vigilante, but other people on the street we interviewed said they no longer felt safe in the neighborhood..._ ]

"What an asshole," Foggy muttered.

Matt froze. The news reports had never bothered him until now. It had been kind of entertaining, in a way, to see how different journalists painted it. But now, hearing the contempt in Foggy's voice... Now he felt like Foggy had just tipped his drink over him and walked out.

"That's kind of harsh," Matt protested. "He's just trying to help the city."

"They've already linked him to that bomb attack, Matt! He's a nutbag in a costume."

Karen swooped in. "Foggy! How dare you just call him a terrorist! He's doing what's right. We can't trust the police any more to do their damn jobs. At least he's trying to change things!"

"Why doesn't he try to change them legally, huh?" Foggy said. "Why does he have to go and bomb shit? We've got enough people running around with guns."

"He doesn't even _use_ a gun," Karen snapped.

"Doesn't have to, he's still a violent criminal!"

"He did _not_ plant that bomb, the media is just painting him as a terrorist-"

Matt tuned them out. His mind was already elsewhere, his senses stretched out, beyond the bar and into the grimy streets. He could hear the ragged edges of a scream cut short. In a moment, he was getting up from his seat and putting his glass back on the table.

"Hey, Matt, what're you-"

"I'm sorry. I have to go. We can debate this later, but I forgot something at home. I uh, I left the stove on-"

"Matt, if this is about us arguing, I'm sorry-" Karen began.

"Drinks on me guys. See you next time," Matt said brusquely and despite their protests, he moved towards the counter.

He paid and stepped out of the bar and into the cold night air. The sounds and smells of the neighborhood enveloped him like a cloak. The steady drip-drip-drip of a leaking drain, the rancid smell of garbage left on a stoop, and the faint wail of sirens in the distance.

Somewhere in the background, he was still aware of the steady metronome of Foggy's heartbeat, and he felt a twinge of guilt. He'd made a promise - but this was still an appointment he had to keep. He fled.

* * *

 

Later that night, miles away from Matt's exploits, Karen and Foggy were walking home. For once, Karen wasn't the lightweight. It was Foggy who stumbled along and leaned on her arm for comfort. His voice floated up from the street with the unselfconscious volume of the very, very drunk.

  
"I - I don't get it! You know? Like, why can't he just tell me, you know? Whats his deal? He's such a - such a bag of dicks!"

Karen nodded and rubbed his back soothingly.

"Uh huh. He really is."

"And, like, we've been friends for...." He squinted. "...A long time. We went to law school, we were roommates, we shared everything... but lately it doesn't feel like we're friends. I just want my friend back."

His voice grew watery. They had neared the doorway of Karen's apartment building.

Karen put a hand on Foggy's chin and tilted his head up.

"Oh Foggy, look I'm so sorry-"

His lower lip trembled and he buried his face in her shoulder.

"Would it be weird if I kissed you?" he mumbled. "Your hair is so soft. It's like a cat."

Karen pulled back and looked at him.

"Foggy, no. Look at me. _No._ We wouldn't work out like that, and I'm not the one you should be kissing. You know that," she said firmly.

He went even more pink with embarrassment. "Oh god, I'm sososorry forget I said anything-"

"No harm, no foul. We're still friends. But you need. to. tell. him," she said in a softer tone. "Tell him what you told me."

Foggy ran a hand over his face and his expression crumpled.

"I _can't_ Karen, I can't lose him, he's my friend..."

She hugged him again.

"You've gotta tell the truth sometime or it'll bite you on the ass. Look. Get some rest, okay? Drink some water. I'll come by in the morning with some aspirin."

"Thanks, Karen," he mumbled, and watched as she retreated into her building.

Karen paused at the shut door for a moment and sighed deeply. Then she turned and headed upstairs. There was only so much she could do before they had to figure it out themselves. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting mugged builds character!

Foggy ended up changing his mind about Daredevil overnight.

As he was stumbling home, he decided to take his usual shortcut down a side-street. It was darker down here, away from the streetlights and the traffic, and it made the world seem more stable and less like the Titanic. The rain had eased, and now there was only the faint dripping of rusty pipes. Neon reflections pooled in the puddles and merged with the oil and chemicals.

It was then that Foggy's skin prickled and he started to hear the footsteps behind him.

He walked a little faster.

"Hey!"

He tried to run but his feet weren't cooperating with his brain.

"Hey, I'm talking to you, Wall Street! Stop!"

He stopped, and stood there, swaying a little on his feet. His breath came out in little puffs of condensation in the sudden cold.

"Turn around." The guy had a thick roughened voice, the voice of a chain smoker. It wasn't the sort of voice you could have a drink with. Not the sort of voice you could ignore.

He held his hands up and turned around.

"Look, man, I'm just trying to get home-" he started.

"Shut up!"

And _wow, okay_ , the guy was closer all of a sudden, and waving a knife around. He was thin, lean, wearing a hoodie. The eyes glittered in the darkness. He had the hungry look of a caged dog that hadn't been fed in a while.

"Just relax," Foggy said, sounding very un-relaxed. "What is it you want-"

"Stop talking," the guy growled. "Gimme your watch." He motioned to Foggy's wrist.

Foggy let out a huff of laughter. He couldn't stop talking, it was like the alcohol had control of his mouth. "Dude, you do know I'm not actually from Wall Street, right? I can barely pay the bills. This watch is worth a dollar, at most-"

"Or I can cut it off your wrist."

"Okay, okay, here!"

He yanked it off and the guy snatched it.

"Now your wallet, keys, and phone."

"Uh-"

"Now!"

Foggy started digging around in his satchel with desperation. "Ugh, shit, hang on, it's in here somewhere-"

"You've got five seconds! Five! Four!"

"Gimme a break, I can barely see..."

In the moments between him trying to look in his bag and actually finding the wallet, something happened.

Something crashed. Foggy looked up, to find the mugger rolling around in the garbage cans with some other guy who had come out of nowhere. A sickening crack rang out as the mystery man landed a punch, but as he rolled over, there was a glint of steel.

"Look out!" he cried.

Apparently the warning wasn't needed - with supernatural speed, the other guy grabbed the mugger's wrist and twisted hard. The mugger screamed and dropped the knife. Two more punches - one to the nuts and one to the jaw - and he dropped to the ground.

As the other guy stood up, Foggy backed away.

The man was tall, muscled, and dressed in black, with a sort of mask covering his face. It was hard to see much else with the way the world was spinning.

"Calm down, I won't hurt you," the guy said, in a low murmur that short-circuited Foggy's brain.

Logic warred with lust, but Foggy was a lawyer, even if he was drunk, so logic won out.

"You hurt that guy," he said. "Do you want my wallet, too?"

Wordlessly the masked man handed him his watch, and Foggy took it from his gloved hand. 

Realization hit him at the contact.

"Holy shit. You're _that_ guy! The Devil of Hell's kitchen! Oh man, that was - One minute you were there and the next - wham! How do you even do that? Do you do martial arts? Are you a ninja? That was awesome!"

The guy made a soft noise that sounded like a laugh. It was hard to tell but it almost seemed like he was smiling.

Foggy ran a trembling hand through his hair.

"Shit. Sorry. I'm rambling. I just - thank you, man. You saved my life."

The masked man tilted his head.

"Are you okay?" He sounded unsure.

"Apart from _almost dying_ , yeah, just peachy." He gave a strangled laugh.

"You're crying."

"What?" Foggy blinked and realized, to his horror, that it was true.

He wiped at his face furiously, feeling self-conscious in front of this stranger. There were shivers running through him. His hands were shaking. Even as he realized he was crying, it seemed to make it worse.

"Do you... want to talk about it?" the stranger said.

Foggy rubbed his face on his damp sleeve. "Ugh, dammit, I've just had the worst night, and getting mugged is the shit icing on top of the garbage cake. Why would you care?" 

"Try me."

The man moved closer, but then stopped and hesitated, as if he wanted to help but didn't know how.

"'S probably just the beer talking. But... I'm barely paying rent, and I'm pretty sure my best friend hates me because we never talk, and I just... it's Friday and I'm tired. Like, I grew up in Hell's Kitchen, but sometimes it just feels like this city's just going to breed bad news forever, you know?"

The stranger was silent in the darkness.

"I've got some good news," he said at last.

Foggy snorted. "Yeah? What's that?"

"You didn't get stabbed tonight."

Foggy laughed and there was a hysterical edge to it. The stranger was close now, close enough to touch in the darkness. He could smell blood. A hand came out of the shadows and gripped his shoulder. He was surprised to find it was warm and firm and alive.

"Go home. Get some rest. And stay safe. Okay?"

"O-okay."

The Devil of Hell's Kitchen handed him his damp wallet.

"This is yours. And this guy's coming to the precinct with me."

The man turned away, picking up the mugger and hauling him over his shoulder like a sack of rice. He headed off down the alleyway. All Foggy could do was stand there and stare after him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dodgy cops and certified Care Bears.

He called in sick to work the next morning. His time was spent dozing in front of the TV and eating last week's leftovers. He almost considered calling Matt and venting to him, but figured he'd probably be busy just like all the other times.

It was Karen who came to visit instead. She turned up at his door with the promised aspirin, and he let her in, pushing aside the takeout container and old newspaper to make it a tiny bit more respectable. Karen immediately went to open the curtains, letting in a burst of daylight that made him wince. Then she came over and sat on the edge of his couch. She looked way too clean and cheerful for this early in the morning.

"Matt called in sick, too. So I've put the appointments on hold for today. I didn't think you had _that_ much to drink. How're you feeling?"

He gave a grim smile.

"Well, I almost got stabbed last night, so fine, mostly."

She put a hand over her mouth.

"Oh my god, seriously? Are you okay?"

"As okay as I can be, I guess," he said. He downed the aspirin with some water.

Karen leaned forward and looked at him with her expression radiating concern.

"What happened? Did you call the cops?"

"I didn't have to..."

So he told her the story of how the Devil of Hell's Kitchen had intervened, only leaving out a few details. When he finished, Karen was silent for a minute.

Then she said: "So, you've met him now. What do you think?" And she smiled like they were sharing a secret.

"He seems... nice," Foggy admitted. "Built like a tank, so that helps."

Karen snorted. "I like your priorities! No, but seriously, I'm so glad you're all right."

She leaned forward and gave him a brief hug and her blonde hair fell around them like a curtain. He felt a twinge of guilt.

He twisted his hands in the blankets. "Karen... I'm sorry about last night. I shouldn't have put all that shit on you."

She shook her head.

"No, Foggy. Don't worry about it. I'm your friend, and I'm always happy to help. So... when are you going to tell Matt?"

He groaned and covered his face with a pillow.

"Ugh. I really don't want to think about Matt right now."

"Just... think about what I said, all right?"

She patted his hand and then rose up from the couch.

Foggy called after her. "Hey - Karen. Did you ever see that vigilante guy again? After that time he helped you?"

She paused and looked back at him. "No. Why?"

"Just wondering."

* * *

 

For the next week, Foggy had the annoying feeling of being watched. Not all the time. Just sometimes, like when he was walking back late from work, or stopping at the 7-11 to get an evening snack. He chalked it up to paranoia and tried to move on.

The police visited his house that week asking questions. There were three officers, one broad-shouldered, one thin and rat-faced, and the other a clean-cut detective in plainclothes.

So he told them the whole story about the mugging and they got him to identify the guy who had been dumped at their precinct. That took about five seconds.

The next hour was spent asking him about the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Over and over again they repeated the same questions. _What did he look like? How old was he? How tall? Did you see his eyes? What was he wearing? What did he say?_

Towards the end of it, Foggy was feeling tired. "Look," he said, "Do any of you guys want coffee?"

But the detective shook his head. No. They didn't want coffee. They only wanted to ask another twenty questions until he apparently told them the magic combination that would make them go away.

Then one of them started asking about Karen. 

"Do you work with her?"

His eyes narrowed. He looked at the three of them in disbelief.

"I'm sorry,  _how_ is this relevant?"

"The details aren't of great importance, but they'll help our investigative purposes-"

"Explain to me, how is this relevant to the mugging? I've told you everything I need. I'm tired."

"We'd just like to ask you a few more questions," said the detective, leaning into his space.

His jaw clenched. The small, animal part of his brain was screaming at him to run, in the same way he'd felt the other night in a dark alleyway. Thankfully, the logical part of his brain was still accounted for. He stepped into Lawyer Mode and squared his shoulders.

"No, sorry. You need to _leave_. I can't tell you anything else useful. I'm going to make breakfast now. You should really get back to the precinct, I'm sure there's bigger cases you need to work on."

He met the detective's eye. The guy stared back for a moment and then gave a curt nod.

"Of course. Thank you for your time. Let us know if you remember anything else, pal."

"Will do, _pal_ ," Foggy muttered as the door shut behind them. He let out a long breath. It felt like the room had just grown lighter all of a sudden. His hands were shaking. Maybe he wasn't just being paranoid. He picked up the phone to ring Karen.

* * *

 

And that was how he got himself dragged into the Fisk investigation. If it had been a week earlier he would have told Karen to quit poking around. But after his bizarre interrogation by the cops, he felt obligated to help her. And he had to agree with her theory that Fisk had most of the police department on his payroll.

She was adamant the Devil wasn't on that list. "He's not with Fisk," she said. "I just know it."

Foggy's lawyer instincts didn't accept that. "Come on. How do you  _know_? Where's your evidence?"

"You  _met_ him, Foggy. He's a good man. I trust him."

He wasn't sure. There was a part of him that instinctively agreed with her. He remembered the fleeting touch of a hand in the darkness. The way he'd told him to "Stay safe" as if he actually cared what happened to him.

The other part of him said:  _He sneaks around at night in disguise so he can beat people up. He's practically a Care Bear!_

But it didn't matter, right? It's not like he'd ever see the guy again. He needed to move on and stop thinking about it.

As it turned out, the Devil found him.

Like last time, he was walking back from Josie's Bar, after seeing Karen off at her apartment building. Like last time, he was pretty drunk. Unlike last time, he was carrying a switchblade and a can of mace in his work bag. 

He walked past the entrance to the alleyway with his head held high. He had just enough beer in him to feel confident.

_I'll just go straight home. No shortcuts._

He stopped.

_But I can't be scared forever. I shouldn't let some asshole stop me._

He bit his lip. Reached into his bag and ran a hand over the can of mace and the cool metal of the switchblade. He tucked it into his palm. 

_All right, man. Let's do this. Let's just... walk home. Nothing to it. Done this a thousand times before._

He stepped forwards and began to walk. Slow, tentative steps at first, then a little more quickly. 

With each step his heart began to pound. The sharp smell of garbage drifted up from the bins and the oil pooled in sickly reflections in the water. It was here. His brain and body remembered the details. The switchblade had grown warm and damp with sweat where it was clutched in his hand.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Any second now he expected the ragged figure of a guy in a hoodie to pop up and ask for his wallet.

Nothing happened. There was only the drip-drip-drip of a pipe and the slow whoosh of a car going past and the sound of a couple arguing in the distance. Another step forward, and another. One more and he'd be further than he'd gotten last time.

There was a footstep behind him.

In an instant all thoughts dropped away. He whirled around, waving the switchblade around wildly. His gaze darted around, straining to see in the shadows. All sound was gone except for the thudding of blood in his ears.

 _There_ \- a dark figure just barely outlined by the streetlight.

"Go away!"

He stumbled backwards too fast and his foot slipped in a puddle. The world tilted. He dropped, but didn't hit the ground. There was a hand supporting his weight. An arm around his shoulders, helping him. The feel of that hand was almost instantly familiar, short-circuiting the fear in his brain.

"You're okay." There was that voice again - low, soft, immediately comforting despite everything that had happened.

He was speechless for a few moments, sagging forwards and trying to get his breath back. He still felt sick and his heart was thundering in his ears.

After a minute the world righted itself and he managed to gasp out: "You scared the  _shit_ out of me. Why the hell are you following me?!"

"Sorry," the guy said, sounding sheepish. "Didn't mean it. I was in the area. Just wanted to check up on you."

"You were just  _in the area?_ " said Foggy, in a skeptical tone. " _Really?_  What, you just decided to do a house call?"

The guy didn't answer his question, and instead gestured to the switchblade he was holding.

"Do you know how to use this?"

Foggy looked at it and realized it wasn't even opened."I would've spooned him to death," he snapped. "So sue me, I want to feel safe after almost getting mugged in a dark alley!"

"So you walk down the same alley? Isn't that tempting fate?"

Foggy pulled away from the hand that still rested on his arm.

"Look, man, I grew up in this city! I've walked down that same alley every day for the past two years! I'm not going to stop now just because  _some people_ in this city are assholes! I am _not_ going to be afraid!"

"Are you?"

"Am I _what?_ " he snapped.

"Afraid?" the guy said softly. "Are you scared of me?"

Foggy was blindsided by the question. He laughed. " _Afraid of_ \- No _,_  of course I'm not afraid of  _you..."_ and he realized he was saying it that he really wasn't. He probably  _should_ be scared of talking to a masked stranger in a dark alley who knew fifty different ways to kill a man, but he wasn't. Something about the guy's presence made him feel utterly safe. 

"You're not scary at all," he continued. "I'm not even that scared for myself, really. It's other people I'm scared for..."

And that's how he found himself talking to a masked vigilante at 3 in the morning. The guy didn't talk much - except for the occasional nod or soft sound of sympathy - just stuck to his little patch of shadows and listened. 

Foggy talked about work, and Karen, and his cases. He ranted about Marci and his dodgy landlord. And it felt good to be listened to for once.

When he got to the part about Matt, the guy tilted his head.

"He's... Ugh. I worry about him, you know?" Foggy ran a hand through his hair. Worry didn't really cover it but it had to do for now. "This neighborhood is dangerous. I just hope he takes care of himself."

"I'll keep an eye out for him," the stranger said.

"Thanks," said Foggy, "That means a lot, coming from you. Guess I've got to tell Matt and Karen I was wrong about you." He smiled.

"Yeah?"

"The Devil of Hell's Kitchen isn't an asshole. He's a pretty good guy, actually. And he's shredded."

The guy just sort of looked at him. Foggy went red.

"Shit, sorry, I was joking - that wasn't a come-on or anything! Unless you want it to be! That's fine too!"

The stranger gave a soft laugh.

"Thanks for the compliment."

Foggy searched his mind desperately for some other topic of conversation to fill the silence. Then he remembered Karen.

"Holy shit, dude, don't thank me yet! I need to tell you about the police visit I had..."

As the Devil listened, he seemed to grow still and grim in the darkness, like a statue. When the whole story was over, he said: "Thank you for telling me."

"What the hell _was_ that? Do you know anything about it?"

The guy shook his head.

"Not much more than you do. But I'd steer clear of the cops if I were you. I think your friend's theory is right."

That gave him a chill. If Karen was right... then there weren't many people left to trust in Hell's Kitchen.

"How about you?" Foggy said, his lawyering instincts coming back with full force. "Are you on his payroll?"

"No," the guy said, in a low tone. "I intend to give Wilson Fisk what's coming to him."

"Good," Foggy said, surprised at his own vehemence. "If he's the one who hurt Karen, then he deserves it."

The guy leaned forward in the darkness. He was close, all of a sudden, and Foggy could hear his own heartbeat again, sounding in his ears. 

"Stay safe."

Foggy nodded. And then the guy was walking away, off down the alleyway and around the corner. Like he'd never been there at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9/10 doctors advise making out with sexy strangers on rooftops as a cure for anxiety.
> 
> This chapters contains 0% plot. Also we will be getting Matt's POV soon, I can promise you!

It wasn't the last time that Foggy met the Devil. He just _had_ to investigate the tenement case with Karen. Just _had_ to stick his stupid neck in. While she was off trying to talk to the highly suspect building inspector, Foggy found himself on the rooftop, backed towards the edge, facing two guys with guns and ski masks.

"Hey, hey, let's talk about this -"

But they weren't talking and they weren't backing down. He felt the rough stone of the ledge against his back, and beyond, the yawning gap. Seven stories down at least.

One of them raised their gun and aimed for his head. He shut his eyes.

The gun went off but the bullet whizzed past his ear and he stumbled backwards onto the ground.

He opened his eyes. Both men were fighting, a blur of limbs and shadows. His heart rose. Somehow - he couldn't explain it - somehow he'd known that he'd be there.

The Devil. He was the shorter man in black. Lean, muscled, lethal. All Foggy could do was sit and stare.

He didn't know much about fighting - he'd failed gym every year in high school and that was enough for him - but he was pretty sure the guy was trained in _something_. He just moved differently to the others. Each movement was economic, quick and brutal. He danced on his feet like a boxer. Within the space of five minutes they were both knocked out cold on the concrete, and the guy was sauntering towards him.

He helped Foggy up, lifting him with one easy motion.

The guy was closer now. In the darkness, he could make out just enough detail to power the imagination - the broad line of his shoulders and the sculpted planes of his chest and torso, the edge of his jaw. Faintly, he realised that he was still holding his arm, and that the guy was speaking to him.

"...okay?"

"Huh?"

"I said, are you okay?" The guy did that head-tilt thing, as if he was listening for something. "You seem nervous."

What he did next was wild and crazy and stupid, but he'd almost fallen off a rooftop to his death, so he figured he'd make the most of existence.

Foggy surged forwards, dragged him down by the neck, and kissed him.

There was a split-second where the man tensed, and his grip on Foggy's shoulder turned to steel that would later bruise. Some barely restrained instinct to defend himself. His mouth was a grim line and his jaw clenched. But then - slowly, so slowly - his mouth softened and his body slackened, opening up for him. The stranger shifted slightly, changing the angle to something more comfortable. The kiss deepened, and Foggy stole the opportunity to slip his tongue in, and felt the low moan that ran through him in response.

If this was the last kiss he'd ever have, Foggy was going to make the most of it. 

At last they pulled apart. He stumbled back, feeling somehow even drunker than the first time they'd met, though he hadn't touched a drop. The stranger was standing there as still as a store mannequin with one hand against his mouth, as if wondering whether the world was real. A tongue darted out against his lower lip, as if tasting the remnants he'd left behind, and oh my god, that did not help at all.

"That's... not how people usually react," said the stranger in a weak voice.

"Sorry," said Foggy. "Adrenaline, you know. Does crazy things to people."

"Not that I mind," the guy added, with a huff of amusement. "You're _really_ good at that. Damn."

Foggy grinned. "Thanks. You're pretty easy on the eyes yourself."

"I am?" the stranger echoed, sounding bemused.

"Um, yeah! Have you _seen_ a mirror lately?" Even before the words left his mouth he was mentally kicking himself. He could feel the heat spreading over his whole face. 

"Thanks for the, uh... appreciation," the guy said. "I've got to go... um..."

"Fight crime? Kick ass and look good doing it?" Foggy supplied helpfully.

"Yeah. That stuff. I'll see you around, I guess." The guy rubbed the back of his neck in an oddly familiar gesture. He still seemed spacey and distant as if he wasn't sure what had just happened. "Stay out of trouble," he added, almost as an afterthought, before parkouring off the roof and into the night.

Foggy watched him disappear around the buildings. His face hurt from smiling so much.

Karen wasn't going to believe it, but the Devil of Hell's kitchen was also adorable.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaangst angst angst ANGST ANGST angst. Angst.

In the weeks after the kiss in the alley, Matt deliberately kept his distance from Foggy. Part of him felt guilty for it - but part of him felt it was necessary. The gap between them had been growing for a while now. Calls were put on hold or went unanswered. He'd wake up with bruises so bad he had to call in sick to avoid getting sent to the doctor. He barely talked to Foggy or Karen outside of work, and he knew they were starting to get fed up with him.

Part of him wanted them to snap at him. Then he could disappear completely. Do a clean break without any of the guilt.

Claire had once asked him: _How long do you think you can keep this up?_

He couldn't answer. He kept bracing for the moment when they left and it didn't come.

How many more sick days did he have to take before Karen told him not to bother coming in? How many more missed phone calls before Foggy finally told him to get lost?  
  
One day that week, Foggy was outlining the particulars of Elena's case, when he finally lost his temper.

Matt was just staring off into space, and after all this time, Foggy could tell when he wasn't listening.

"Matt!" he snapped, dropping the heavy sheet of his files down next to him with a thud. "Wake up!"

"What?"

"Look, you could at least _try_ to give a shit about this! I don't know what kind of other crap is going on with you, and I don't really want to know, but this is our _job_ , Matt! _Our_ job. It's not just about you. The least you could do is listen to me!"

Matt grew smaller, feeling the guilt weighing upon him in an instant.

"Sorry - I'm just tired," he replied. Even he could hear how lame that excuse was. Tired didn't explain his black eye.

He could hear the exhaustion and anger in his friend's voice. _This is it,_ he thought,  _He's going to leave._

But then Foggy sighed. There was a creak as he sat down in the chair next to Matt. There was the warm brush of his shoulder where he leaned against him.

"Sorry for snapping at you. I'm tired. ...What were you even daydreaming about? Care to share?"

"Nothing," Matt answered. He was, all of a sudden, acutely aware of the space that his friend occupied, the meter of his heartbeat, his breaths growing slower, and the soft mingled smells of soap and morning coffee that lingered in the air for just a second like an afterimage. A little shiver ran through him.

"Fine, you don't have to tell me right now," said Foggy. "How about we have a snack break and then get back to work? Okay?"

Matt nodded and rose from his seat. Part of him was still waiting for the moment Foggy finally walked off without him.

* * *

 

Matt tried to stay away. He really did. He only tracked Foggy once, just to make sure he got back safely from a late-night trip to the supermarket. Purely for altruistic reasons of course. He liked to keep an eye on the neighborhood and ensure everything was in its place. Unfortunately, he couldn't control everything that happened in Hell's Kitchen. Like, for example, getting stabbed in the side.

And so he found himself stumbling down a familiar laneway at half an hour past midnight. His head was pounding and blood was leaking between his fingers, but he knew this place. God, if only his own apartment was closer. 

But there was nowhere else to go.

So he ended up sitting on Foggy's fire escape just below his kitchen window and banging on the glass. After several minutes of this, Foggy opened the window for him, and Matt crawled through and rested his weight against the kitchen counter.

It was Foggy who spoke first.

"Are you okay? Oh god, what do I do?"

His hands were on Matt's shoulders, warm and firm and the only thing that felt real.

Through gritted teeth, Matt managed to say: "Burner phone..."

"Do you need a doctor? I'll turn the light on-"

Matt grabbed his wrist and he went still. " _No._ No doctors." With clumsy fingers, he managed to wrestle the phone out of his pocket and handed it to Foggy.

"Burner phone. Call the number. She'll talk you through it."

Foggy sounded lost.

"I - I've got a first aid kit in the kitchen, but I don't think it covers this sort of thing..."

Matt sagged against him, resting his chin in the crook of his shoulder.

"It'll do," he said, and after that the couldn't manage much else by way of conversation.

So he ended up on the kitchen floor with Foggy knelt next to him, rolling a bandage around his chest. It was a simple stopgap measure until Claire showed up.

Foggy talked incessantly, rambling out of nervousness, and Matt was glad for the anchor of conversation.

"How did you even know where I was?" he was saying. "Scratch that, I don't wanna know... This is crazy. God there shouldn't be this much blood... Your nurse friend had better get here soon, man."

There was the touch of Foggy's hands at his face and all of a sudden he was sitting inches way. For a delirious second, Matt thought he was going to kiss him again.

"Stay with me," Foggy said. "Hey. Hey! You drifted off there, man."

"It's fine..." Matt replied. He knew he had to tell Foggy. The words were right there, waiting to spill from his parted lips. If he could only work up the guts to just speak.

Matt reached out and put a hand on Foggy's for a brief moment. He left a dark smudge of blood on the back of his hand.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"Don't you dare apologize, you're the one bleeding out in my kitchen!"

"No..." Matt heaved a sigh, and even that hurt a little, pulling at tenderized muscles and bones. _That's not what I'm apologizing for._

Claire saved him from having to decide.

The door to the apartment opened and soon she took charge and was kneeling next to Matt. She didn't talk much other than to ask Foggy to hand her things out of the kit she'd brought along. Foggy gripped his hand the whole time. Towards the end of it all, Matt ended up in the bathtub, surrounded by bloody gauze and tissues.

Foggy had left to go and get Claire a coffee and some aspirin.

Once Matt was certain he was out of hearing range, he gripped Claire's hand.

"Please," he said. "Don't tell him my name."

Claire sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Matt... honestly. This is the entire reason we didn't work out."

"Please, Claire," he repeated, "He knows me - but he doesn't know me. I don't want to hurt him."

"You don't wanna hurt _you_ , you mean." She slapped a bit of gauze down on the floor. "Listen, Matt. I saw the way he looked at you. If you really care about him, you'll tell him the truth. Or it won't be pretty when he finds out."

" _If_ he finds out," he argued.

Claire gave him her best ' _I am working here and I won't take any shit_ ' stare.

" _When_ , Matt. He's gonna know sooner or later. Either you'll make that choice, or it'll be made for you."

Matt rested his head against the cool tiles and shut his eyes.

"I'll... think about it."

"You better. That boy's a sweetheart. Don't break him."

She was right, he thought later, after Claire had left and he sat in the kitchen with Foggy.

The coffee was half-finished and it rested uneasy in his gut. Foggy just sat there resting against the wall. He seemed as exhausted as Matt felt.

"Sorry," he said again. The single word floated out into the silence between them.

Foggy blinked, coming back to awareness.

"No, no," he said. "You saved my life. Glad I could return the favour. You know, my kitchen's always open, if you need a midnight snack or whatever."

He sounded so shy and earnest and Matt knew he was done for.

"I'll think about it."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick breather chapter with Father Lantom, who is my underappreciated fave.
> 
> Next chapter's rating will go up!
> 
> (Also I was wrong, this is over 10 chapters, and possibly over 10k. Because I'm the sort of person who writes loads and loads of fanfiction instead of all that other stuff I'm meant to be doing.)

The following week, Matt went again to confession. He sat with Father Lantom in the comfortable darkness and told him everything. It was coached in "maybes" and false names, but Father Lantom had always been good at reading between the lines.

"Are you worried that this... relationship... isn't good for you?" the priest said, in his slow, careful tones.

Matt sighed.

"No. It's good. I feel more grounded, more sure of who I am and what I'm doing. I'm worried it's not good for _him._ "

"That he could get hurt, you mean?"

Matt swallowed.

"Yeah. Something like that."

There was a moment of silent contemplation as the priest thought.

At last he said: "The church's stance on social matters is... changing, slowly, and as much as the high church may say one thing, others disagree. I won't lecture you on that, Matthew, and I don't think you need it. You're a Murdock, you'll do your own thing anyway."

Matt snorted a laugh.

"I will say this," Father Lantom continued, in his slow, deliberate tones, "What's right is not always what's easy. To lover others as the Lord commanded us is not always comfortable or simple. My advice is this - do what is truly loving."

"I was afraid you'd say something like that," Matt replied.

"Ah, well, you're under no obligation," said the priest. "Advice, nothing more. What you do with that advice is up to you."

"There's so much I want to tell him," said Matt softly. "What I've told you. But..."

"But you're afraid, yes? Are you afraid for _him_ or for _you_ , Matthew?"

"Both," said Matt. In the darkness, he could hear the faint wavering heartbeat of the old man next to him. The calm, indrawn breaths. It was an anchor, of sorts.

"I was thinking maybe I could just try and see where it goes," he continued. "Get it out of my system. Then maybe it'll wear off and I won't need him anymore."

Father Lantom chuckled.

"Son, that's an old classic. Vice, once it's got you, doesn't let you go. If you think you can just try it, you're kidding yourself."

Matt thought of dark alleys, and the remembered brush of another's skin, and the warm thread of a heartbeat under his fingers. 

He didn't go back to confession for a while after that.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW Chapter with not a trace of plot. (What most of you are here for, let's be honest.)
> 
> Matt prefers the "have sex + immediately nope outta there" method of seduction.

After the incident, Foggy didn't see the stranger at all. He had to admit, it was unsettling seeing him so pale and still. He'd assumed somehow that he was this indestructible force. 

The only thing that persuaded him it was all real was having to mop the kitchen afterwards and seeing the trail of rust-coloured droplets that lead to the bathtub.

According to the newspaper and some pixelated online footage, the guy was still alive and kicking ass. The guy had his contacts, he'd only showed up at Foggy's place because he was closer, and the kiss was just a weird thing that had happened one time. It didn't mean anything, at least not to the stranger. 

So he assumed it was a one-off thing and resumed Life As Normal. So okay yeah, there was less making out with mysterious strangers, but there was also more regular sleep patterns and less frantic worrying.

He thought all of this, up until the night the guy showed up at his kitchen window again.

It was past three am, judging by the bluish glow of his bedside clock, when Foggy was jolted awake by the noise. He stumbled out of bed, half-dragging a tangle of sheets with him, and wandered into the kitchen. A familiar figure stood in the window. Without any hesitation he crossed the floor and opened it.

The stranger clambered through and stood there in his kitchen, silhouetted by the yellow glow of the city's light pollution, like a weird angel.

"What's wrong? Do you need to call the nurse again? Were you stabbed?" Foggy asked in a rush.

The man shook his head wordlessly. He just swallowed, the involuntary movement revealing the line of his neck.

He actually seemed - well, _nervous_ , Foggy thought. He was trembling a little, as though he was considering something, and it was taking him a huge amount of effort just to think let alone form words. He paced in the narrow kitchen. Even that movement was ridiculously graceful, and _god_ , Foggy thought, _get a grip._

"What is it then?" Foggy asked.

His lips parted as if to speak. "I-" The sentence died in the air. 

"Look," he said, trying to be reasonable, "It's past 3 in the morning, if you've got something to tell me, just say it, or-"

He was interrupted by a kiss.

This was not the hesitant kiss of before. This was hungry. Now that the guy wasn't taken off guard, he turned out to be much more skilled at it. He surged forwards with a ferocity that was startling. There were hands cradling his face and warm lips on his, devouring his gasp of surprise.

Foggy's brain short-circuited. He was only able to focus on _more_. More kisses, each one deeper than the last. More skin, bared to searching fingers. More of the other person, and a driving need to get as close as possible.

He ended up crowded against the kitchen counter with the other man pressed against him, lapping kisses at his neck.

Through a haze, Foggy attempted to gather his thoughts. Such as _Maybe this isn't the best idea_ , and _You don't even know this guy's name_ , and _He beats people up for recreation_. But those thoughts were overriden by the 3 am logic of _He's really really ridiculously good looking, and dammit, I want this_.

Pushing the stranger's shirt up with his fingers, he touched warm skin. There were the firm muscles of his stomach, with some bruises which he gently ghosted over. The faint indents of ribs and vertebrae, and higher up, to his chest and shoulders. Heat radiated from him.

It felt good to touch, to feast on all of this sensation which until now had only been imagination. Any second now he expected the stranger to vanish in his arms like smoke, but with every trace of a finger, he kept proving to be real and solid.

And not just a passive statue. Rough, calloused hands pushed against his hips and stomach. He gave a gasp of surprise and moved forward into the touch. Stubble grazed against his neck.

Burying his face in the crook of his neck, he inhaled, and smelled sweat, and a familiar brand of cheap deodorant. That almost made him laugh - imaging telling Karen, "Hey, did you know Daredevil buys Old Spice from Walmart?"

That distracting line of thought was cut short. A muscled thigh slid between his legs, brushing against him, and all thoughts were whited-out. There were shivers running through him, but they were no longer of fear or anxiety. They kissed, over and over, until they had to part for breath. He ground his hips, seeking friction.

Lower and lower his hand drifted - then he pulled away in surprise. Perhaps it shouldn't have come as a surprise, given that the stranger had kissed him. But he was still shocked to reach down and feel the warm hardness of his arousal in his hand.

A moan rumbled in his ear.

Dimly, he registered what this meant. The other man - for whatever reason - wanted this. Wanted _him_ , specifically. The thought ran through him like a current. And all of a sudden he needed to see proof of it. So he reached down again and gripped the man's cock. Another moan. He rested his face against that bare shoulder and began to stroke, roughly at first, in broad strokes.

He was rewarded with a shameless display. The man's hips thrust forwards and his lips parted on a gasp. The darkness was frustrating. Foggy wanted to see what his face looked like blushing and undone. All he had to go on was the sounds of encouragement.

He slowed down and became gentle. Feather touches circling at a merciless pace. Every time his partner tried to move and increase the pace, he would go even slower, just to drag it out a little more. It was with the lightest of touches that Foggy coaxed him until he finally came, moving desperately against him and biting his lip as if to hold in a curse.

The stranger slumped against him. He was weak and warm and panting wet breaths against his neck. Foggy would have been content with just that moment. It would have been fodder for many nights to come.

But apparently the Devil of Hell's Kitchen was a generous and giving sort of guy.

He slid down and dropped to his knees and before Foggy could so much as protest, he had pulled down his boxers and freed his cock.

"Whoa, you really don't have to -"

"I want to," came the reply, and he swallowed Foggy down as far as it was possible to go.

Foggy let out a strangled gasp and tugged at his hair.

"Holy shit, dude, slow down, don't hurt yourself!"

His partner pulled back, only to start teasing Foggy at an excruciating pace. This was payback. He was lapping first at he tip with delicate little touches that went deeper and deeper each time. All he could focus on was the warm heat of his mouth, that clever tongue, and a deliberate hint of teeth. Was that a smile? Dammit, the guy was _enjoying_ this.

He started to take him deeper and the tip of his cock hit the back of his throat, and Foggy was done for. He tipped his head back with a groan and started thrusting faster, digging his nails into those broad shoulders, and the guy took it all with his lips stretched wide around him.

"Fuck, wait -" he attempted to warn him. But he only went deeper and more earnest in response.

Foggy gasped and thrust his hips once more and came and he drank it all down.

They were both left panting and shaking. It took Foggy a while to find his voice.

"That was.. that was... uh."

The guy stood up and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Thank you for saving my life," he replied in a hoarse voice.

Foggy couldn't help but laugh at that.

"Any time your life needs saving, I am there! That is a gift, man. Why fight crime when you could be giving the world's best blowjob?"

The stranger ducked his head. He seemed at once amused and shy. "You're the first person to appreciate my skills."

Foggy leant against the counter, still feeling wobbly.

"Any time you want to practice your skills ... I'm happy to help. If, you know, this is something you'd like to do again. You could stay, if you wanted..."

"I'm sorry. I have to go," came the soft reply. Foggy turned his head to respond, but when he looked next, the stranger was already heading for the window. He at least had the courtesy of shutting it behind him.

Foggy ran a hand over his face. After a long moment, he felt his heartbeat begin to slow. He stood for a while at the kitchen window and poured himself a glass of water and sipped it. He didn't know how he felt. Mostly tired and spaced out. And, yeah, maybe a bit hurt that the guy hadn't accepted his offer. He turned the feeling of hurt over and over and prodded at it.

_It's not like it's personal. You don't even know him. None of this will matter in the morning._

So he put the glass back on the counter and wandered off to bed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about sharing a drink with friends, and the crushing realisation that your friend has been lying to you.
> 
> Halfway point! Yay! Please note that the next chapters will be slower in coming because I have decided to shuffle around some plot events to flow better. (It is all written, though.)

It was easy to dismiss the events of last night as a really vivid daydream, until he looked in the mirror and saw a hickey on his neck. Time to wear his collar a little higher.

He went to work feeling exhausted and even Karen commented on it.

"Late night?" she asked. "You look like you could use a coffee."

"Or ten," he said. "Just hook me up to a drip."

"Already got you covered."

She put a set of takeaway coffees on the desk. Foggy took one and sipped it, and gave a sigh of relief. He was at that weird stage of exhaustion where food became transcendent. It tasted like the first coffee that had ever been brought into existence.

"Matt called in sick today."

"Big surprise there," he muttered. He was feeling like shit and he wanted to rant at him, but lately, it was like Matt had dropped off the face of the planet. At least Karen was there and listening to him.

She was looking at him over the edge of her coffee as she drank it. The thing about Karen was that she was observant. She sometimes liked to pretend ignorance, but both he and Matt had quickly learned that there was no fooling her.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

And Foggy knew that if he said no, she'd know he was lying.

"Well, no, I just - It's hard to explain." That sounded like a lame non-answer even to him.

"Try me," said Karen. She leaned forwards in her seat and looked at him.

He turned the coffee cup over in his hands. His eyes were drawn to the hideous orange and brown pattern on the paper. It was a lot less disconcerting than Karen's worried expression. He sighed and started to talk.

"Okay. There's this guy..."

"You're seeing someone?"

"Um. Sort of," he said.

Karen narrowed her eyes. "How can you be 'sort of' seeing someone? Weren't you together with Marci?"

"It's complicated. I mean, the thing with Marci isn't, that was just a friends with benefits deal, nothing serious."

"So who's the guy?" she said, putting her chin in her hands and looking at him with this coy expression. Goddamit, Karen could be persuasive.

He started to ramble.

"I was out late one night, and we met by accident. He helped me out of a bad situation. I thought he was nice, but I didn't think I'd see him again. And then I did, and we kissed, and I thought that would be the end of it. It was just a thing that happened, you know? But last night he stopped by out of nowhere. And, you know, one thing led to another..."

"Sounds to me like he's interested in you."

Foggy could feel his face heating up and he couldn't stop it. He was turning into a tomato.

"That's the thing. I don't know... Every time we've met he's had to leave all of a sudden. I know he does have a weird job, and he works odd hours. But I wonder if maybe he doesn't like me. Maybe he's embarassed to be around me."

"Well, he showed up, didn't he? If he didn't like you, at least a little, why would he even be there?" said Karen. "You're not bad looking Foggy."

He chuckled.

"No, I'm serious!" she said, pouting at him. "Don't be so hard on yourself! Look, are _you_ the one ringing him up, begging him to see you?"

"No," he responded. "I don't even have his number. He just turns up."

"See? There you go. _He's_ the one seeking you out. What about you? What do _you_ want?"

"I'll take what I can get," he said, and Karen laughed.

"I love your honesty. But seriously. Do you want more from this guy?"

"Well... I'd feel less like a regrettable one-night stand if he didn't jump out the window as soon as we're done."

Karen had no idea how true that previous sentence was.

She tapped her finger against her lower lip. "Well... Why don't you just ask him to stay a while longer next time? Offer him a beer? Ask him how work's going?"

"He's pretty private about work... But I guess I could try."

Karen smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "There you go! Just give it a try. You can do it."

She gave him her brightest and most encouraging smile. It was almost impossible to say no to that.

"All right, I'll give it a try, but I feel like I'll need something a bit stronger than a latte."

And he drained the last of his coffee and tossed it in the bin.

 

* * *

 

There was a second time. And a third time. And a fourth time. Daredevil's visits started to get more and more regular. He didn't say much, but then again, they were usually too preoccupied for conversation. He had also begun using the front door, instead of climbing through the window, which was progress.

On the fifth night, Foggy lay on the couch in a haze, almost on the verge of sleep. There was a warm face resting against his thigh. In the dim light, he could see tousled hair and the outline of broad shoulders. He stroked a hand through the dark hair and over the edges of the mask. If he wanted to, he realized, he could undo the knot with his fingers and let it fall away.

Right now, he was content to let it stay there.

He shifted and heard a soft sound of protest as he moved up from the couch. In the kitchen, he moved around quietly, finding cups and plates and putting the kettle on to boil. He was conscious of the dark silhouette of the visitor sitting on his couch and he got the impression of being watched.

"I'm making cocoa," he said, by way of explanation. "Do you want some or not?"

There was a silent moment where he though the answer might be no. But then the guy nodded.

So he busied himself setting up the cups. The routine itself was soothing. One spoonful, then two. Hot water and milk. Stir it together and watch it dissolve. He brought the cup over and handed it to him, and then sat down next to him on the couch. For a moment or two they sat in companionable silence.

"Did you have a difficult day?" he asked, after a moment. He wasn't sure whether he would even get an answer or whether he was willing to share about whatever it was he did. The guy shrugged.

"I guess you could say I found some leads. I had to pay for it, though. I'm still sore."

"I can't believe you don't even wear armor, dude. You're crazy."

The guy gave a soft laugh. "Yeah, maybe I am. I'm looking into it, by the way. Getting some armor. I might know a guy."

"Good!" Foggy said. "I'm worried about you. I keep wondering whether you'll stop showing up here..."

The guy paused with the cup halfway to his mouth. Then he said, in a small voice: "Do you _want_ me here?"

"Yes," said Foggy, and realized he meant it as he said it. "Of course I do. Do _you_ want to stay?"

The guy nodded again.

Foggy let out the breath he had been holding. The warmth of the cup soaked through to his hands. But it felt like it was spreading through him right to the centre. He smiled. Right now it was okay.

* * *

  
It became a routine. Most nights devolved into sex. But some nights the stranger would ask: "How was your day?" and he'd sit there in the darkness and listen to Foggy ramble on and on. And maybe they'd share a beer or Foggy would get up and make a cup of coffee or tea.

He didn't ask that question himself too often, though. He didn't need to know, and the other man wasn't inclined to share. He knew enough from the cuts and bruises and the way he'd hiss at an accidental touch against tender skin.

Things petered off with Marci, and he thought it would be rude to just fade out, even if it was a casual thing. He called her up one day to apologize, but she interrupted him.

"You finally got together with Matt, didn't you?" she said flatly. His brain short-circuited for a moment.

"I - no. Why would you... No. It's some other guy I met."

"Oh! Oh. Well. I'm happy for you, Foggy Bear. Is he a sweetheart? He better be a sweetheart."

He grinned then remembered that didn't translate over the phone.

"Yeah. Yeah, he is." _In between beating up gangsters, that is._

"Then it's all good. Congratulations! Really, I'm happy for you, Foggy Bear."

Marci sounded a little wistful as she said goodbye, which surprised him. He never thought she actually cared for him like that. Maybe it meant more for her and she just never said anything.

As it turned out, the conversation with Marci was the seed of a terrible realization.

It hit him one day when he was at work. They were talking to a client, him and Matt, and he made one of their little inside jokes. And Matt smiled - a cheeky, teasing grin. And Foggy remembered where he'd seen that smile before and his mind went blank.

_You finally got together with Matt, didn't you?_

"...right, Mr. Nelson?"

"Uh, what now?"

Matt's expression grew forced. "That about sums up the strength of your case based on the evidence. Right? Unless you have anything else to add."

Foggy let out a rush of breath.

"No, no, all good!"

His head felt like a balloon about to burst. The room had constricted. It was too warm. He was sweating under the collar.

Once the client had left, Matt did that listening head-tilt thing of his ( _oh god, another familiar gesture_ ), and asked: "Hey, Foggy, you okay?"

_No big deal, man, just remembering that time you gave me a blowjob in my kitchen._

"I'm okay, I'm fine, why wouldn't I be okay?"

And even Foggy realized how strained his voice sounded.

"You just seem a little tense."

Matt was frowning. He wasn't used to Foggy not sharing stuff with him and it annoyed him. ( _And oh man, isn't that rich, coming from him!_ )

Foggy managed to laugh it off and make some excuse about the client being a bit intimidating with that giant tribal tattoo down one side of his face. Matt didn't seem to buy it but at least he didn't press the issue.

It was only later, as he'd packed up for the day, that he managed to gather his thoughts.

It didn't make any goddamn sense, but it was also the only thing that made any sense at all. It explained everything.

Matt was _blind_. Really, truly, 100% blind. Matt used a cane to get around, for fuck's sake, he couldn't cross the road without holding onto Foggy's arm. The idea that he was some kind of secret ninja was ludicrous.

And yet... Everything about Daredevil suddenly screamed "Matt Murdock".

Same height, same build, same jawline, same walk and mannerisms and voice. That cheeky smile. It would explain why Matt was showing up with weird injuries, and his obsessive fitness regime, and his secrecy. And Claire, his nurse friend - he'd seen her before. There had been something niggling at the back of his mind ever since he'd met the guy in a dark alley - but he just hadn't been able to process it out of context.

But how the hell could he even prove it? How would a blind guy do the kind of insane stunts that Daredevil did?

The next time he showed up, Foggy would be ready. He was determined. He'd have a plan to confront him with the evidence and pull out a confession.

As it turned out, the next time Daredevil showed up, he found himself on the couch again on the receiving end of another amazing blowjob. It was very hard to think let alone be righteously angry. And the time after that he found himself returning the favour. And the time after that was mostly just kissing and they didn't even get to the removal of clothes stage before they were both done for.

He kept meaning to say something, to hint that he knew. But since Matt was also lying, he figured - why not get something out of it in return?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another NSFW chapter to tide you over until I update again. After that we will get back to The Plot. (Yes, there is one.)
> 
> There is some dirty talk in this but it is very toned down from the first draft, because I just find that stuff so hard to write without being cheesy.

Daredevil loved darkness. That was half the problem. He insisted on showing up at some dead hour of the night, with the lights off, in pitch blackness.

On one such night, he appeared in the bedroom at just past midnight. Foggy awoke to a kiss at his temple, and another to his neck, and he tilted his head back, slotting his mouth against the other's in greeting. It went from sleepy to heated all at once and he surged forwards and explored with a hunger that surprised him.

Foggy kissed up his jaw and then up to his ear and murmured: "I want to see you. I want to see you while I'm fucking you. Please."

Matt stilled and went silent. A hand brushed against his lips.

"No. Sorry."

Foggy flopped back onto the pillows with a sigh.

"Please?"

In response, Matt kissed him again, deeper this time, with a particular flick of the tongue that made him shiver. Dammit.

"Come on," he said, pulling away, "'s not fair."

"There might be a way..."

He sat up again. "I'm listening," said Foggy.

In response, he got up and crossed the room. He drew the blinds closed, and put the shutters down, sending the room into a more total blackness. Foggy could barely see his hand in front of his eyes. It was a weird sensation, knowing something was there but being unable to see it.

"Hey, that's still not fair."

"Just... trust me."

So he sat and waited. He heard a rustling of fabric. In this total darkness, all his other sense worked overtime to compensate. He could hear the shift of fabric on skin, the sound of a zipper, and the soft thud of fabric on the floor. Light footsteps, and the creak of the bed and the lurch in weight as he clambered on.

He could feel the warmth of the other man's skin as he was straddled above him.

"Touch me," he said, "Touch my face."

Foggy was certain then, without a doubt.

So he reached forward in the darkness and touched, knowing exactly what he would find. He knew that stubbled jawline, and the snub edge of a nose. Cheekbones. Dammit, Matt had good cheekbones. Fingertips ghosting across soft eyelids, feeling the flicker of a response. The familiar arch of the eyebrows and forehead. Fingers running through the softness of his hair. Brushing against the lower lip, he felt an answering wetness of a tongue, drawing his finger into his mouth and suckling on it. Just a hint of teeth. It made goosebumps rise on the back of his arms.

Foggy rose up and wrapped an arm around his neck and kissed him. He pulled him down.

Up until now, Matt had stayed somewhat clothed, only revealing bits and pieces of skin. Now he was completely nude and unmasked. If Foggy wanted to, he could reach over and switch on the bedside lamp.

But he was a bit preoccupied.

He kept exploring. Ran his hands over Matt's hips, shoulders, and back, feeling the scars that were there. He slid a hand lower along the muscle of his hips and the soft cure of his ass and the back of his thigh. he felt the powerful muscles there and the way his whole body was shaking with need.

"You're beautiful," Foggy murmured in his ear, loving the reaction it elicited.

In answer, Matt groaned and shifted his weight down. He was grinding down against his hips. Foggy was so hard he couldn't stand it. He gripped Matt's hips tight and held him there, while he thrust up against him, rubbing against the curve of his ass.

"I want to - to fuck you," he panted in Matt's ear. He drew his teeth along his collarbone.

"Closer."

He moved his hand back against Matt's hips. A hand seized his and pushed his fingers and guided them.

"Yes," Matt said, a sort of agreement, as he moved his fingers between his legs.

At the first, initial pressure, Matt whined and spread his legs further apart. Soon he was rocking back on Foggy's fingers. It was a little too slick and easy and Foggy realized with a jolt that he had prepped himself - he'd planned this, he'd come here _wanting_ this. The thought made him hunger. He pushed Matt down against his hardness and could feel him through the blankets.

"Come on," he panted. "Just do it. That's what you're here for, just -"

"Yes," Matt breathed.

There was a moment of struggle where they pushed blankets and clothing aside in frustration and then his cock was bared to the sudden coolness. It wasn't cold for long because, without any forewarning, Matt sunk down onto his cock.

Foggy groaned and tilted his head back.

It wasn't a slow slide like he'd been expecting. Matt was even more impatient than him. They began to move together. Each thrust back Matt would move forwards to meet him. His weight was suspended above him. Foggy could feel how much strength it took to remain there, straddling him, with the sweat that ran off his back and the way the muscles in his thighs protested. He rode him with determination.

Foggy could hear him panting as he sped up and put a hand on his hip.

"Fuck," Fogy gasped. "You're - god, you're greedy for this aren't you? Look at you, you're shameless."

He was a bit worried he'd crossed a line there, but Matt moaned aloud and started to rock his hips faster.

Taking that as encouragement, he kept babbling and let the thoughts just fall out of his mouth.

"What would they think, if they could all see you - how desperate you are - just for me-"

Matt buried his head in Foggy's shoulder and shuddered. He was moving faster now, so much so that Foggy put a hand on his hip to slow him, and make the pace more gentle.

"Mine," he murmured and bit down onto his collarbone. He thrust up once, twice, and came. The motion seemed to trigger Matt's own response and wrenched it out of him. He made a soft noise of defeat, tremors running through him, and staggered down a moment later, still panting. Sweat ran over him and turned cold.

Foggy lay back, feeling boneless and breathless. For a long while his mind was a pleasant white haze. He stroked a hand across Matt's face - and yes, that was definitely Matt's face - and kissed him once more.

He meant to say it then. To say Matt's name or "I know," or something to that effect. But exhaustion overcame him and sleep descended all at once.

The following morning, he woke up with is alarm, and, of course, no sign of any visitor. The only way he knew it was real was the tell-tale feeling of having been thoroughly fucked, and the fact that both the blinds and the curtains were shut so that it felt like a cave.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... ACTION.

A few days later, Matt received a phone call from a guy who said he wanted to talk to him about Fisk. He agreed to meet at a cafe that was down the road from the tenement building. Foggy had insisted on coming with him. "I'm going too," he'd said. "Nelson _and_ Murdock, remember?"

So they sat in a booth together, waiting for their mysterious caller.

Coffee was awkward and silent. Sitting next to him in the booth, Matt thought he would go insane. He kept waiting for the inevitable moment when Foggy would look at him and know. The proof of his guilt was all over his skin. Every time Foggy drew near, Matt could smell himself on Foggy's skin and it took all his self control not to kiss him right there. 

  
But then he remembered that Foggy wasn't _his_. Foggy didn't know him anymore. All that time away - the days taken off sick and social events skipped - and he felt like a stranger in his own body. Even Karen didn't talk to him as much as she used to.

Matt took a sip of coffee as he searched desperately for a topic of conversation.

"Uh... how's Marci?" he asked.

"She's fine," came the flat reply.

"So, you still talk to her?"

"Not so much. That was a few months ago."

And that was that. There was something missing, and it took Matt a second to realize. Ever since he'd known him, there was a particular warmth in Foggy's voice, a tone that he seemed to reserve for Matt. It was gone.

The next sip of coffee scalded his tongue. The words were there, he could say them. The only risk was their friendship.

Before he could even open his mouth to speak, they were interrupted by someone hovering near their table. A thin, nervous-looking guy in a parka. He slid into the opposite seat.

"You the guys investigating?" he murmured.

Foggy slipped into business mode. He held out a hand. "That's us! Nelson and Murdock."

The guy leaned across to shake his hand and Matt caught a whiff of cigarettes, cheap deodorant, and something mechanical and oily.

"Kevin Sloe. I was hoping I'd find you."

"I'm glad we can both help each other," said Foggy, giving his best disarming smile.

And, damn, his reaction to this total stranger was warmer than his reaction to Matt.

The thought made panic flood his system. He hadn't felt panic like that in a long time. He could barely focus as Kevin started rambling on about his work as a small-time pot dealer in Fisk's vast machinery. All he could think about was the fact that he didn't have anything of Foggy left.

Maybe that was why he didn't sense it before it happened. He was so busy trying to slow his breathing and resist the rush of blood in his ears that he wasn't listening for it. The context was all wrong - a cafe, in broad daylight?

He should have heard him coming down the hall. He should have sensed the whisper of cloth brushing against the metal of the handgun he was carrying concealed in his waistband. Should've heard it minutes ago.

Instead, he heard it when the guy walked into the room, and smelt the chemical sweat of fear on him, and heard his elevated heart rate.

He grabbed Foggy's arm and said: "Get down."

Then he ducked under and pulled Foggy with him.

A moment later, the guy was shooting.

Amid the chaos and screams and shattering of plates and glasses, everything else dropped away. This he could handle. He went into analysis mode. There was no real logic or intent that he could hear to the guy's gunfire. No real target. He was shooting like a drunk. Bullets hit the ceiling, tables, walls. Some bullets ricocheted and hit people - he heard a waitress gasp and stumble as a bullet clipped her arm. But his main intent seemed to be to create as much chaos as possible.

He could hear the cafe starting to empty. Now he was shouting orders at people. Matt, Foggy and Kevin stayed where they were, trying to be as still as possible.

Matt heard the door close and the squeal of a table being dragged over to barricade it. Foggy's grip on his arm tightened. Their exits were diminishing and all of a sudden the gunman's footsteps were much closer. His heartbeat was still rabbit-like with that weird tang of fear.

"Out of there!" the guy barked. "Out where I can see you!"

"Matt, he's telling us to move, come on," Foggy said, tugging on his arm. He shifted and Matt followed him, crawling out from under the table. He stretched out his senses to analyse the situation.

There were four others in the room - a waitress, the manager, and two elderly customers, who hadn't managed to get to the door in time. The old man was bleeding, but it was a slow bleed, which gave him time. They were sitting spaced a couple of metres apart so they couldn't interact.

The gunman was following Matt and Foggy now, and though Matt couldn't see it, he could almost feel the gun trained on him.

Could he move? Take the guy by surprise?

Yes, maybe, but there was no guarantee it wouldn't result in someone getting shot. If not him, then one of the other hostages.

The gunman was twitchy. He almost seemed more scared than the hostages with the way he was breathing and pacing. Like an animal at the zoo. A wild animal was not wise to provoke. Better to wait, then, for an opportunity.

So Matt obeyed the orders and knelt on the floor with his arms over his head and waited. A metre away, he could hear Foggy's heartbeat, and that was enough for him.  
An hour or more passed like this in silence. His legs had begun to ache with the strain of sitting too long in one position.

All the guy did was pace back and forth and stop occasionally for a smoke. He must have lit about four cigarettes already. The ash hissed as he tapped the cigarette and it fell to the floor.

Another hour in, the old woman spoke up in a shaking voice: "Please - he's hurt. Let him sit up."

"Do you want me to shoot him?" the guy growled, and that was the extent of the conversation.

Another hour and four more cigarettes later, the phone at the counter began to ring.

"Answer it," the gunman ordered. The manager got up and walked over to the phone. He picked it up and answered it and began to cry.

"Oh thank god," he said. "It's for you. Police want to negotiate."

The gunman stalked over and grabbed the phone. Even from this distance, Matt could eavesdrop on the response from the other end. The local police were attempting - and failing - to negotiate.

"I'm not talking to you," the guy said in a hollow tone. "I want to speak to Daredevil. That's all."

And he slammed the phone down.

Matt felt the panic come back in a wave. The world outside was muted and everything narrowed down to the four walls of the cafe and the heartbeats clustered inside it. The old man's heart sounded like a moth beating against a glass jar. He couldn't speak.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god this took so long to update I'm so sorry. Changed some things from the rough draft. I've given myself a deadline of the next two weeks before Nanowrimo.
> 
> This chapter is a bit more violent, just a heads up. Also, I don't know where the old man came from, he sort of wandered in and introduced himself. (Stan Lee cameo?)

The hours ticked by. To everyone else in the room, it was near silent. Just the guy pacing and the tick of the clock on the wall.

Matt could hear beyond it. He could sense each person beside him, and stretch out to the street, past the barricaded windows to the rushing movement of people in the streets and somewhere in the distance, police cars. The tempers of the others in the room had long since slowed and given way to tedium.

Twice more the negotiator's call came, and twice more the gunman slammed the phone down.

On the third call, Matt shifted a little closer to Foggy.

"Listen," he said, "I've got an idea-"

But he heard the click of the phone being put away and had to move again.

"Who was talking?" the gunman said. Matt could her the brush of air over the cold metal as he moved the barrel toward the waitress's head.

"It was them!"

And dammit, that was Kevin's voice. The little shit.

Matt decided there was one of two ways he could take this. He rose to his feet.

The gunman staggered back, shoes squeaking on the lino, and the barrel pulled up as he aimed. Matt could hear the rapid pulse of his heartbeat through the fingertip resting on the trigger.

"Stay there! Don't move!"

Matt realised that the gunman was more afraid of _him_ and it took all his self control not to laugh.

"You want to negotiate with Daredevil?" Matt said in a level tone. He heard Foggy's heart rate spike.

"No, I want a small fries and a coke. Sit back down!"

"Just - just don't point that at my friend, and we'll talk. That's all."

He pictured in his mind a courtroom, with the other hostages a jury looking on, and the gunman as the judge staring him down. Visualisation still didn't make what he was about to say any easier or less potentially stupid.

He drew in a deep breath. Focus. Make your case.

"You want to negotiate with Daredevil?" said Matt. "Well, you're in luck. Because I'm-"

" _What my idiot friend here is trying to say_ ," said Foggy, cutting in with his loudest Objection voice, "Is that we know Daredevil, and we can get you to him, but you've got to listen, first."

Stupid, brave Foggy. The instant he scrambled up to his feet the gun was back in play.

"Did I _ask_ for your opinion?"

"No, but I'm pretty sure you'll want to hear what I have to say," said Foggy. "I'm a lawyer. I know my stuff."

Somebody else moved in the room. He heard the creak of a table as one of the other hostages stood up.

"Listen to him," said the old man. A thick European accent - Serbian, maybe.

"Sit down!"

The old man laughed. It was a rasping sound that spoke of at least forty years of smoking.

"I'm eighty-four and I've got fucking lung cancer, son, I don't care if you shoot me. Blast away."

"Harold, sit down!" the old woman hissed.

"No, Vivian, I'm not gonna sit down! Look here, maybe this is too far back for you to remember - all you new kids wanting to be heroes - but I was with the Italians, back when Hell's Kitchen was a real shitshow. This your first robbery?"

Matt swore nobody in the room moved. No one even breathed. The only sound was the gunman's heartbeat rattling like a machine gun.

"Listen. I'll give you some advice, and I won't even charge you for it because I'm a fucking saint. First of all, stop holding that thing sideways, nobody takes you seriously when you do that," the old guy said. "Second of all, listen to the lawyer, he'll probably be saving your ass in court."

"You're asking to get shot."

"Maybe I am. Maybe I don't wanna go out in a hospital bed. Maybe I don't wanna bleed out here at the hands of some idiot who can't even manage a robbery. You can't shoot me. You can't even pull the trigger."

"SHUT UP!"

The gunman was crying and everyone else was dry as stone. Matt could taste salt in the air and the sharp tang of fear of everyone in the room. No one moved. No one spoke. The clock on the wall ticked. 

Then Foggy stepped forward.

"Hey. Let's - let's calm down, all right? Nobody's going to get shot. I promise you on my life that we can get you what you want. You just have to try and listen. Can you do that? Just listen, for a sec?"

There was a tense moment where Matt was certain how things would end. But then the moment passed. He heard the man give a grunt of agreement and his finger left the trigger.

"Fine. Why should I believe you?"

"Because I'm telling the truth. I know Daredevil personally. How do you think he's going to react to you holding all these people hostage? What would he do if he found you now? Is he going to be in the mood for negotiating or is he just going to giftwrap you for the cops?"

"You don't know my situation," the guy snapped.

"Look, man, I'm a lawyer, I help people in difficult situations. I'm guessing you're in one of those, otherwise you wouldn't be here right now. I'm not your enemy. I can help you get out of this and I might be able to persuade my friend not to go all medieval. Just work with me."

The gunman gave a hysterical laugh.

"All right, all right! I'm listening."

"You don't need any of these guys," said Foggy. "Too many people in the room already complicates things. Let the old man go. Let the kid go - she's what, sixteen?"

"And give up my bargaining chips?" the gunman said.

"Listen. They're not bargaining chips, they're liabilities. What if the cops come in here? What do you think they're gonna do? At least 80% of them are on Wilson Fisk's payroll, they'll probably just shoot you. I'm the only negotiation you're going to get."

At the sound of Fisk's name, the guy gave a sharp hiss of breath and his grip loosened on the weapon. The old guy started laughing again.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he said. "You don't get to say that name." His voice was cracking like a teenager.

"He doesn't own me and he doesn't own this city. I'm done being scared. You can give him a personal "fuck you" from me. What'll it be?" said Foggy, "Would you rather negotiate with us, or one of his paid executioners out there? I bet they're lining up outside right now."

"Okay," the guy said, in a wavering voice, "Deal."

Matt could tell when he lowered the gun because all the hostages in the room gave a collective sigh of relief.

Time began to speed up again from that point. Until then it had felt like being in a black hole, where each second was a year, and the only thing that existed was the four walls and the telephone. Now the other people in the room began to move. The gunman ushered them towards the doorway. 

"The kid goes first," he said. "No sudden moves."

There was the sound of footsteps, a murmured 'thank you' as the people passed him by. The waitress shuffled past, followed by the manager, and then the old man and his wife. The old man stopped and paused for a moment.

"I knew you didn't have it in you, son." He sounded disappointed.

As the other hostages moved towards the entrance, Foggy turned to speak with the gunman.

"Okay," he said. "If you want my help, you've got to be honest. Are you working for Fisk?"

"I was," the guy said. He put his gun down on a table. "Not anymore. I swear."

Matt could sense the guy was telling the truth. His whole demeanour had changed. He was still shaky, but he wasn't about to blast out a whole room of innocent bystanders.

"I believe you," said Matt. "So you want an out, is that it?"

The guy made a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

"There isn't one! This was it, this was my only out! Christ, I never thought I'd be doing this - I'm just an accountant, for god's sake, I don't even know how to use this thing." He exhaled and began pacing. "I worked with Leland Owlsley, for Fisk. Fixing numbers. It was the one thing I was good at. I got sick of it. I just wanted to disappear. But Fisk - I know too much about where his money goes, and he's got eyes everywhere."

"So... you decided to rob a cafe?" said Foggy.

"Figured I needed to get Daredevil's attention somehow. Either that, or go out quickly."

"What's your name?" Foggy asked.

"Phil. Phil Sykes."

"All right, Phil. I think Daredevil will be willing to overlook a lot of things for the information you have on Fisk."

Matt nodded. The amount of information they potentially had on Fisk now would be a front page story.

"The first thing we need to do is get you out of here and past the police," said Matt, "We don't have much time-"

He froze.

He heard the footsteps even before they rounded the corner. There was the familiar squeak of scuffed trainers on the lino and the smell of cheap deodorant.

"No, you don't."

Kevin Sloe had picked up the gun, and unlike Phil, he wasn't holding it sideways. Matt could hear how even his heartbeat was. Not a trace of fear or apprehension or excitement. He might have been eating breakfast or filing paperwork.

"Thanks, Phil," said Kevin. "I came in here thinking I was just gonna find some wannabe journalists, but you gave me so much more. Fisk will wanna talk to these two, but he doesn't care what you have to say."

And he shot him. One, two, three, four, five times in the chest. Phil Sykes staggered back and slid against the cafe counter. His body thudded to the ground in front of Foggy.  

The close impact of the bullets temporarily deafened Matt, but as the sound receded, he moved. Kevin was aiming again for Foggy, so Matt grabbed his arm and twisted it hard in the opposite direction until he felt the bones move. The gunshot echoed in the room. He could sense Foggy falling to the floor and heard his animal sound of pain and a part of him snapped.  

Then they were fighting. Even with a dislocated shoulder, Kevin was obviously more than a small-time pot dealer. The way he kept bouncing back from blow after blow made Matt wonder if he was somehow desensitized or drugged.

Then he kneed Matt in the stomach - straight on an old wound, and in an instant, had him flipped over. Matt heard the metal in the gun shifting and the bullet slotting into its chamber.

Just as he had shut his eyes, he heard the other man give a sharp hiss of breath. Then he turned and ran. The kitchen doors slammed and his footsteps grew distant. The front doors shuddered. They were being rammed open. On the other side he could hear the police giving orders over wire.

In a split second, Matt had to make his decision. He crawled to his feet and ran after Kevin.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fallout! Because there's gotta be consequences, right?
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting. Sometimes I get notifications at work and it really makes my day 1000x better. <3

Foggy had a lot of time to think, sitting there in the hospital bed. Being shot really gave you a new perspective. Two ribs were bruised and one was broken and he felt like his entire body was a mass of bruises.

Karen had rushed to see him, of course. She'd sat for hours in the room, staying up late, and hounding the nurses for info until Foggy told her to quit.

She'd asked him what had happened, and he'd told her of course. But he was vague about the rescue. He remembered enough.

Phil Sykes had been alive when the cops burst in. Barely. Foggy could hear his rasping breaths from a few metres away. Heavy footsteps as one of the cops - indistinguishable from all the others in his dark helmet - stood over him. He lay very, very still and did his best to look unconscious.

Then that terrible focus moved off of him, and towards the gunman. He said something inaudible. A moment later, there was a single shot, and silence. After that, only the footsteps of Fisk's salvage crew as they swept through the building. Blood loss made everything else hazy.

Karen came into the doorway. She tossed the phone on the table with an annoyed huff. Pissed-off Karen was Foggy's favourite Karen.

"Matt's still not answering his damn phone," she said, "He should be here! What the hell is he doing?"

"Must be important," Foggy muttered.

Her expression softened as she looked at him.

"How are you feeling now?"

"Better," he said. He smiled and regretted it. "Morphine should kick in soon."

"If there's anything I can do - "

Foggy shook his head.

"Karen, you've already done everything for me. Thanks for being such a good friend. Honestly. Go take a nap, or get one of those vending machine coffees if you have to."

"You'll be fine?" she said, biting at her lip.

"Fine. Promise. And don't waste your energy on Matt. I guess he's got his own shit to deal with."

"Yeah, well he could at least pick up for a friend... Enjoy your nap."

Karen left, and shut the doors behind her.

Foggy sank back onto the pillows and closed his eyes.

He wasn't sure how much time passed after that, but when he woke up again, he felt like he was drowning. It was still dark, that weird disorienting time somewhere between midnight and dawn. He gulped in lungfuls of air and tried to focus.

It was the cold that had woken him. A draft of wind blew in as Daredevil slid through the window and into the room. He looked unreal in the blue-green glow of the equipment.

They regarded each other for a moment; Foggy staring and Daredevil tilting his head in that familiar gesture of appraisal. There was something hesitant about his expression.

"This was a mistake," he blurted out, "I don't think we should do this any more. It's become too dangerous for you -"

Foggy let out a burst of laughter. It hurt, but he couldn't stop.

"Hold on. Are you serious right now? Too dangerous for _me?_ What about you? I'm sick of worrying and waiting and wondering what I'm going to see on the news-"

"You put your _life_ in danger talking down an armed gunman," he growled.

"So did you!"

"That's different, and you know it-"

Foggy held up a hand.

"No. You know what, I don't want to see you right now. The one person I wanted to see here tonight was my best friend, but _surprise surprise_ , he didn't show, just like all the other times! So you don't get to come in here and decide for me! _I_ don't think we should do this anymore!"

Foggy realized his voice his had risen to a shout. The night nurse would have heard and be coming to check on him.

"Just go away," he said, in a quieter tone. "I don't need you."

Daredevil opened his mouth as if to speak. His lips trembled. But he was silent.

"I want to sleep," Foggy murmured, and turned over. Down the corridor, he could hear the anxious footsteps of the nurses running, but by the time they got there, his visitor was already gone. The window was locked shut as if he'd never existed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Matt angsts some more, Karen is 100% Done, and Father Lantom is a Substitute Dad (because I love that trope.)
> 
> Possible trigger-y descriptions of medical stuff and pain?

That night, Matt cleaned himself up. He stood for over an hour in the shower until his skin felt scorched and he could work up the willpower to drag himself out. He bandaged himself up and sat on the couch, in the dark, listening to the ice cubes melt in his glass of vodka.

  
The bruises still stung, but worse still was the failure. For the first time, the criminal he'd been chasing got away. Whatever would happen with that, he didn't know.

  
It felt different from all the other times. Usually cleanup was a matter of efficiency; a brief cold shower and a handful of painkillers. Each cut and bruise tended to with dispassionate force. Needle and thread pulling through skin as if patching a hole.

  
This time he went slow, like the childish torture of pulling off a bandaid. He knew it would hurt more but he couldn't bring himself to work through the stitches quickly. It took an hour and even afterwards it kept stinging. He felt raw and exposed and not even vodka was dulling it.

  
There was only one thing to do.

  
With a sigh, he set down the glass on the coffee table, then got up and crossed the room to the cupboard. He unlocked it and pulled the doors open, knelt down, and pulled out a metal box.

  
He took the suit and the mask, all crumpled and smelling of blood, and folded them up into the lockbox. The lid shut with a thud. Turning the key felt like a burial.

 

* * *

 

 For the first few weeks or so after the cafe siege, Matt and Foggy didn't speak to each other. They barely even looked at each other. It was a frozen silence that threatened to turn into a permanent cold war.

Even their clients had begun to notice. One afternoon, they both entered the office together, and their client, who had sat there watching them, said: "Is one of you the prosecution?"

  
Matt stopped with his hand on the chair.

"No. Sorry?"

She frowned. "Wait, so you two _are_ working together?"

  
"Nelson and Murdock, yes," said Foggy, with the most forced smile he had ever worn. "Why don't you get started, _Murdock_."

  
"I was _about to_ , Nelson, if you'd just let me handle it," Matt shot back.

  
The woman looked from one to the other.

  
"Look, maybe I'll reconsider..."

  
Thankfully, Karen walked in the room and managed to save the situation with a lot of smiles and cheerful chatter. But after the woman had gone, her smile dropped. Pissed-off Karen had returned.

  
She slammed the case folder down on the desk between them.

  
"Okay, I've had it. You're both going to talk to each other, or I'm not buying either of you coffee for a week! What the hell is going on with you both?"

  
"I don't -"  
"It's nothing -"

  
"Neither of you can talk without making some pissy comment, and you keep treating me like your messenger! This isn't high school and I'm not passing any more of your notes. Deal with your bullshit or I'm out."

  
They at least both had the self-awareness to look embarassed as Karen strode out of the room.

 

* * *

 

The following day, Matt sat in the darkness of the confession booth, and talked with Father Lantom.

  
This time he told the priest everything. He went through the truth, in the same methodical manner he'd use in a courtroom. No vagueness, no backtracking, no lies by omission. It felt like he was interrogating his own self on the witness stand.

  
Father Lantom didn't treat it like an interrogation, though. He just sat, and listened, and asked the occasional question.

  
"So you're having a break, then?" he asked in a mild tone as if they were talking over tea and biscuits.

  
"Exactly what I said before. I can't do it anymore. I'm finished."

  
Father Lantom hummed.

  
"Are you sure about that?"

  
Matt snorted. "Yes. I'm pretty sure. I thought you disapproved of this whole thing, anyway?"

  
"I never said I disapproved," said the priest, "That's not for me to decide. Given your unique talents, Matthew, there's a part of me that has honestly wondered whether you weren't placed in this city at this time for a purpose... I was, however, concerned for your welfare."

  
"You didn't have to worry about me," said Matt. "I could handle myself."

  
The priest sighed. "Matthew, I worry about every single person who comes through my doors and talks to me. I've known you since you were small. Of course I worried."

  
Matt ran a hand over his bruised knuckles.

  
"I... I'm sorry. You know, I thought I was doing this for other people, to help, but maybe it wasn't just about helping. Maybe I enjoyed it a little too much. Someone I love ended up hurt, because of me. I was selfish."

  
Father Lantom replied: "I'm glad you've recognised that. Sometimes even I can get carried away with wanting to be a savior. But what good will martyring yourself do? How are you going to make it right, son?"

  
Matt put his face in his hands and sighed. He could feel tears threatening and the embarassment scalded him.

  
"Honestly... I don't know if I can fix it this time."

  
He heard footsteps and the door to the confession booth open. A warm patch of sunlight spilled onto his face.

  
"Come on, son. Let's go. I can't promise you you'll be able to fix it, but let's start with a warm drink and a bit of fresh air."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marshmallow-soft fluff to make up for all that angst.

One night, Matt showed up at Foggy's doorstep. It took Foggy a minute to decide whether he was going to open the door, before he sighed and acquiesced.

  
Matt was standing there in his work shirt (which badly needed an iron.) He gave a shy smile and held up a plastic bag that smelled like takeaway.

  
"Can I come in?" he said. "I understand if you don't want to, I mean, you've got every right to, because I've been kind of a dick lately and - "

  
Foggy sighed. Maybe it was just because he was cold and tired and sick of standing there in his sweatpants and t-shirt, but he gave in.

  
"Cut the martyr crap, Matt, of course you can come in." He held the door open.

  
Matt walked inside and put the bag on the counter. It was weird how he was still so at home with the layout of the place and had immediately begun setting out some bowls and cutlery.

  
"I brought you some beer and Chinese food," he explained.

  
"So this is, what, your best effort at a peace offering?" said Foggy, with arms folded.

  
Matt looked a little embarassed. "Well, yeah, when you put it like that... Look. I though we could just... watch a movie. If you're okay with it."

  
"What's that supposed to mean?"

  
"Just that! Really! I don't have an ulterior motive! Just - just Matt and Foggy. Nothing complicated." He ran a hand through his hair. It didn't make it any neater. "...I'm sorry I wasn't there. Not just Friday night - all those other times, too. I want to be there."

  
Oh, goddammit, he had that look on his face like a kicked puppy. And he was holding the container of beer as if it could break at any moment.

  
"Maybe this was a bad idea. I'm sorry, I'll go..." Matt said in a rush.

  
"No," said Foggy, "Stay. Thanks for the food."

  
Matt smiled and Foggy realised he'd missed that expression. It lit up his whole face.

  
He couldn't be bothered cooking that night, anyway.

  
So they sat, and watched the movie, with Foggy doing a running commentary as usual. It was something he'd begun doing in college, when they used to take downtime from exams, and he wanted to help Matt be able to join in, too.

  
The beer was average, but the food was pretty good. And the conversation, although it was stilted at first, started to loosen. He even managed to get a laugh out of Matt.

  
It was good, Foggy thought, as he settled into the couch. Just the two of them. He'd missed this.

* * *

 

Daredevil had been quiet for a while. There hadn't been anything in the news - no sensational reports, no blurry youtube videos. Not even a photo. On the one hand, Foggy was glad he didn't have to worry any more.

On the other hand, he sometimes felt bad for Matt. He would get this listening expression, sometimes, a fleeting look of pain, as though he could hear or see something that bothered him. And he pretty much refused to watch the news now. They'd spent so long not-talking-about-it, and gotten so good at tiptoeing around it, that it had become harder and harder to even acknowledge that Daredevil had ever existed. 

  
Every other day, it felt like there was some story on Wilson Fisk's grand enterprises, and how he was a real struggler who'd worked himself out of the dirt, and got where he was through and blood, sweat and tears. Remembering the cafe siege, Foggy was pretty sure most of it was other people's blood, and he wanted to punch something. He had to admit, he could see where Matt had been coming from.

  
Karen told him about some of her investigation on Fisk. She kept digging, and she kept hitting walls. Everything about the guy's past was a carefully arranged magician's spread of cards. Whenever they thought they had something solid, the lead would disappear like smoke.

* * *

  
Matt was back at work more often. No more sick days or unexplained absences. The bruises on his face and arms went from vivid technicolour to faded. He was engaging more with the cases -  Karen had commented on it. They even started up the Friday night drinks again.

  
He continued to visit Foggy on the Saturday night, always with a bag of beer and takeout and a different movie each time.

  
Nelson and Murdock were a team again and over the weeks and months, the whole action-hero-thing felt more like a memory or a fiction. Something they'd watched on one of those Saturday nights.

  
One day, as they were about to go on a lunch break, Matt suggested they walk across the street to get a coffee. They slid into a booth with creaking leather seats. Something in Foggy's mind shifted uneasily. This was the same cafe from months ago, but you'd never know it. New owners, new decor. Like a dream that had dissolved.

  
Matt cradled his coffee in fingers with faded bruises. He reached one hand up and took off his glasses. The gesture put Foggy on edge. He never did that when he was joking.

  
"Hey, um, Foggy?"

  
"Yeah?" He forced his gaze away from his frappucino with chocolate and back up to Matt's face. He was taken aback by the serious expression. Matt had been softer lately and more inclined to laughter.

  
"You okay?"

  
Matt broke into a nervous little smile, like a ray of sunshine that cut through a stormcloud. He drummed his fingers on the coffee cup.

  
"I'm fine! I was just, um, wondering... if maybe we could get dinner out, instead of takeaway?"

  
"Yeah, sure, we can -" Foggy began to wave it off, and then took another look at Matt's expression. " _Oh._ You mean like a date?"

  
Matt swallowed and nodded and that gave a very distracting view of his neck.

  
"If you want. We don't have to, we can just forget I ever suggested it..."

  
Foggy grinned.

  
"Matt, I was waiting for you to ask. Of _course_ I want to go. Pick a place and I'll be there!"

  
Their conversation drifted to other topics but the whole time Matt kept smiling and smiling like he couldn't stop.

* * *

 

  
Their first date was at an Indian restaurant. It was in one of the more run-down areas of town, but the restaurant itself was the sort of family-run gem with generous servings of food that tasted amazing.

  
It ended up being a lot like their movie nights. Foggy had expected to be nervous, but it was so comfortable and warm that he realized he wasn't worried. The only moment where his throat caught with nerves was when he saw Matt dressed in a navy sweater and chinos, looking like a slightly rumpled male model, and he wished he owned a better shirt.

  
After dinner was over, they walked back to his apartment together, with his hand resting on Matt's arm out of habit. They hadn't had much to drink, but he felt lightheaded and brave.

  
"You know," said Foggy, "I was surprised when you asked me out."

  
"Why?" said Matt, frowning.

  
"I've liked you for ages," he blurted. "Pretty much since day one. But you're a 10 on the attractiveness scale, and I'm... me, and you always seemed more interested in girls..."

  
He withdrew his arm and waited for Matt's reaction with a pounding heart. Finally telling him he felt as light as a balloon that had been released into empty sky. He wasn't sure where this would go.

  
Matt didn't look mad or upset, just surprised.

  
"Really? I mean, when we first met, I had a hunch... but I thought you got over it. Why didn't you tell me?"

  
"You're my friend. I didn't want to lose that."

  
Matt looked pensive for a moment, and then he smiled. "Do you know, I always thought exactly the same thing? Maybe not since day one, it took me a while to figure out how I felt... But I just assumed you were into Marci."

  
Foggy snorted. "I have mentioned my bisexuality to you on _multiple_ occasions. And you thought that meant I was 99% straight with an exception for Hugh Jackman, or...?"

  
"I didn't think you'd be into _me_ ," Matt admitted. "God, I'm an idiot, aren't I?"

  
He nudged Matt's arm. "Then I'm an idiot too. We both are. Idiots at law!" That managed to get a laugh out of Matt.

  
They were standing outside the door now that led to the stairwell.

  
"Thanks for dinner," Foggy said in a more serious tone. "Would it be weird if I kissed you?"

  
Matt smiled back and all the fears Foggy had been holding on to dissolved. "I was hoping you'd ask."

  
Before he could even mentally prepare himself, Matt had already leaned in and kissed him. One hand gripped the collar of his short and the other crept up to touch his jaw. He was aware of Matt's warmth and softness, only for a moment, and then in the next breath it was all gone.

  
He couldn't help but feel a little disappointed - he'd been hoping for something a bit more like their other kisses - but apparently this was the way things were moving.

  
"Good night. Thanks for the kiss," said Matt.

  
"You're welcome. Anytime you're in need of kissing, I'll be there," replied Foggy. "You know, I kinda feel like I'm the one who should be walking _you_ home. Be careful on the way back."

  
Matt turned at the bottom of the stairwell.

  
"I can handle myself in a fight, you know that," he said. It was the first time he'd ever seemed to reference what was hanging between them. Before Foggy could ask any more questions, Matt had already disappeared down the stairs.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close to the end!!!

It couldn't last.

  
Matt had known, deep down, that the normal life he'd created couldn't stay forever. He'd signed up for it the instant he put on the mask and went out. But he hadn't expected it to be this bad.

  
One day, Foggy didn't come into work. Karen said: "He didn't call, Matt. Maybe he's sick." But he could hear her picking at her cuticles and the faint little exhale of breath that signalled anxiety.

  
When he showed up at Foggy's apartment that afternoon to check on him, he already guessed what he'd find. A slow, heavy feeling of dread had hung over him all day.

  
Pressing a hand against the door and stretching his senses out, he could hear - nothing. No heartbeat and certainly not Foggy's familiar rhythm.

  
Breaking in was easy - he'd done it before, after all, on those nights he'd showed up sometimes to surprise him.

  
The instant his foot touched the carpet of the living room floor, there was a crunch of broken glass. The sound rang out and reflected back off all the other fragments that littered the carpet. Beer bottles and the remains of a glass coffee table. An overturned chair. And here, near the door - a familiar metallic smell. His fingers touched something wet and sticky.

  
The sounds of the city faded and all he was aware of was the roaring of his own heartbeat in his ears.

  
 _Focus, Matt. Focus. You're useless to him like this._ And he did focus, slowing his breathing and his pulse, recentering himself, remembering his training. _Don't let fear slap you around. Use it. What can you see?_

  
He let the fear turn into anger and will and sharp clarity. He let his senses stretch out as feelers and lead him to the evidence.

  
Foggy had been working on something before he'd been taken. His laptop was missing and papers were strewn across the room. It came to him then - the housing case that Karen had been working on, the leads they'd been tracing, and the man in the suit with the glasses.

  
It was time to go hunting.

* * *

  
When Foggy woke up, it was a slow process. At first he was aware of his neck aching and thought: _Maybe I slept funny on it when I was working._ But then his senses started to creep in all at once. Everything hurt, and his arms were wrenched back in a weird position, and wow, this chair was uncomfortable. And what was that weird chemical taste at the back of his throat?

  
Then he tried to move his arms and realized he was tied to a chair. Fear kicked in. For an instant, he wasn't even thinking, his brain gave way to a primal escape instinct. He started thrashing against the restraints.

  
When that didn't work, exhaustion took over. He tried to focus. _What would Matt do? What would Karen do? I need to figure out where I am._

  
Somewhere above him a neon light was flickering. He tried to identify where he was but all he got was bare walls, concrete floors, and broken windows. Could have been any one of the abandoned warehouses in this hellhole of a city.

  
He was so focused on seeing that he forgot to listen. The sound of a footstep made him startle.

  
"Good morning, Mr Nelson. So nice to be doing business with you again."

  
His stomach sank. He knew that smug, punchable voice.

  
There was the click of his shining Italian leather shoes on the concrete as he stepped closer and Foggy caught a glimpse of him undoing his suit jacket. Then his face swam into view. Glasses Guy looked like the sort of asshole who enjoyed watching somebody get beaten to a bloody pulp, but didn't like to do it himself in case it ruined the Armani. Foggy had met plenty of them at Landman and Zach, but none quite achieved the level of Patrick Bateman that this guy did.

  
The man pulled up a chair, angled slightly away from Foggy, as if they were in a therapy session, and took a seat.

  
"Is this what you really call business, huh?" Foggy said. It felt like trying to talk through a mouthful of cotton wool. Whatever they'd used on him was similar to the stuff at the dentist.

  
"We'll get to that in a moment, I assure you. I believe last time we met, I made you a lucrative offer. I'd like to extend the hand of friendship once more."

  
"Cut the crap."

  
Glasses Guy made that little smirk with his mouth, while his eyes stayed flat and shark-like.

  
"Very well." A hand emerged from his breast pocket and a bit of paper hovered in his vision. It was a blurry photograph of his apartment. There was a familiar figure crouched on the fire escape.

  
"A source assures me you have contact with this 'Devil of Hell's Kitchen'. I always double check my sources. This is your apartment, correct?"

  
Foggy said nothing.

  
"The other individual in this photo is of great interest to my employer. For business reasons, you understand. It would be helpful if you could provide us with contact information so we can reach out to him."

  
Foggy shuddered and slumped forwards. Everything hurt. He was too tired for questions.

  
"I don't... know him," he managed. "That was - that photo doesn't mean anything. I don't know who the guy is or what he's doing there."

  
Glasses Guy smirked.

  
"Of course. Nevertheless, any information you can provide will be helpful. And my employer rewards honesty. I'd like you to _really try_ , now, Mr Nelson. Try to remember."

Something in Foggy snapped.

  
"You want honest? Go fuck yourself. I don't know anything, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell a snake like you. Your employer can ask me himself."

  
Glasses Guy gave a little sniff of annoyance, and then stood, tucking the photo away.

  
"You overestimate your importance," he said. "My employer has better things to do than entertain you. No one will miss you, Mr Nelson. And if you really _don't_ know our mutual friend, as you say, then he won't miss you either. Our business is concluded."

  
He walked away, and sat at a distance where he could watch while two bruisers beat Foggy into a pulp. Close enough to hear his cheekbones fracture, but not close enough to ruin the suit.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE CLIMACTIC FINALE! [Content warning for action-movie-things like blood and guns and people getting beaten up, and also needles and improper use of pliers. Like damn it ended up really gory, I don't know where that came from! I'm a nice person, I swear!] 
> 
> Dunno if this climax makes any sense whatsoever because I was writing blind for most of it unlike the other chapters, and it took wayyyy longer than I thought it would. 
> 
> Stick and Ben appear briefly in this chapter, because I thought it would be implausible for just two people to take down over 9000 gangsters. Four is slightly better odds. James Wesley is a creepy sadist verging on serial killer, and Karen is a boss. I also don't think I did much justice to Wilson Fisk, because damn, he is SUCH a great villain, but, I tried, I guess? 
> 
> Next chapter is the resolution, and the boys FINALLY talk about it.
> 
> Nanowrimo is 1 day away and I am panicking omg!!

The first person Matt called was Karen. She immediately asked if Foggy was coming in to work.

  
Matt took a deep breath and then answered: "No. He - he's gone, Karen. And I'm pretty sure I know who took him."

  
"Don't go anywhere. I'll be there right away," Karen said, and then she hung up.

  
She wasn't kidding, either. Within fifteen minutes she burst through the door. When she saw the state of the living room, she made a suppressed sound of horror.

  
"Oh my god... What do we do? We can't go to the police!"

  
"I've got a plan," Matt said slowly, "But I'm going to need your help. I've-"

  
A phone started ringing. Karen and Matt both froze. Matt immediately located the sound. He knelt on the floor and stretched an arm out under the couch to pick up Foggy's phone.

  
He passed it to Karen so she could answer it.

  
"Hello...?" she said.

  
Matt could hear the voice of Wilson Fisk on the other end.

  
"Miss Page. You're working with the journalist. I've heard a lot about your work - not always flattering, unfortunately."

  
He heard Karen's pulse speed up. She was terrified.

  
But her voice, as she spoke, was dead calm.

  
"How _dare you_. I'm going to find Foggy. I'm going to -"

  
"If you want to see your friend, you're going to do exactly as I say. I'm not some thug, Miss Page, I'm a reasonable man, and I'd like to work with you. Here's my offer: you let the Devil know I called and I'll make sure your friend lives. I don't like unnecessary conflict."

  
"I don't even know what you're _talking_ about! I can't just phone him up -"

  
Matt nudged Karen.

  
"Give the phone to me."

  
Karen gaped at him.

  
"What? Why?"

  
"Just - let me talk to him. Please."

  
"If you think you can help. Fine."

  
She passed the phone over to Matt.

  
Matt took a deep breath and then began.

  
"You wanted to bargain with the Devil? Let's deal."

  
There was a moment of stunned silence and then Fisk chuckled.

  
"I didn't actually think you'd respond! I wasn't sure whether I could trust your lawyer friend. People will say anything when you apply enough pressure."

  
"Where is he?" Matt growled.

  
"One thing at a time. This is a negotiation, not a war."

  
"You made it a war when you started killing people."

  
He could almost hear Fisk grinning through the phone.

  
"I may be a murderer, but least I'm not a liar. I stepped out of the shadows. I showed the city who I really am. What have you done, other than play dress-ups? You were an amusement at first, but now you're just an annoyance, interfering in my plans for this city."

  
"It was _never your city_ -"

  
"Don't speak with authority you don't have. I'm dealing the cards right now, and you're going to listen. Is your ego worth your friend's head?"

  
Matt swallowed, and said nothing.

  
"I didn't think so. Here is the choice you have. You can choose to visit and negotiate in-person, and your friend will be safe. If you ignore me, he dies. Am I clear?"

  
Matt paused for a beat of silence.

  
Then: "If I go in, you let my friend go."

  
"Of course. Warehouse 15a, on the docks. Don't be late."

  
Fisk hung up. Matt put the phone down. He felt spaced-out all of a sudden, as if all the sounds in the world had been muted. He didn't even have to see to know that Karen was probably staring at him.

  
"Matt? I think you owe me an explanation," she said. "What _was_ that? Did you just seriously make a deal with Fisk?"

  
Matt sighed. There was no choice. Karen would have to be in on this or there was no chance of saving Foggy.

  
"Look, you might want to sit down for this. It's... a long story, and you might not believe me, but... well, I'm Daredevil."

  
" _What?_ "

  
So he sat down and told her everything, in as much detail as he could given he was on a timeline. She didn't ask many questions. Just listened.

When he came to the end, she said: "I... I think I've always known. There was always something familiar about you... Matt, why didn't you _tell me?_   Why didn't you tell Foggy?"

  
"Because your opinion matters to me!"

  
She sighed.

  
"Matt, I think you're such an asshole right now, but you're also still my best friend - look, I'm going to help you in this, but you need to promise me something."

  
"Anything."

  
"You're going to tell Foggy the truth once all this is over."

  
"Deal."

  
She hugged him.

  
"Good. All right, we need to tell Ben."

  
"...Ben already knows."

  
"Of course he does. Silly of me! All right, fine, we contact Ben. He can help us."

  
Matt nodded and handed the phone to Karen.

  
"I've got a plan. I want to get Foggy out of this and take down Fisk at the same time. Are you in?"

  
"Absolutely."

* * *

  
Matt arrived at the warehouse just before midday. It was quiet out here, almost peaceful in its desertion. Only the sound of waves lapping against the docks and the cry of seagulls wheeling in the distance. The sun was harsh and bright in the sky.   
As he approached the shipping entrance, he heard footsteps. Two men with guns emerged. And he could sense several more living heartbeats in the vicinity. Including Foggy's. The familiar sound sharpened his focus.

  
Matt held his hands up as he approached. The guards patted him down briefly and then pushed him through the doorway.

  
Foggy's heartbeat got nearer, but it still sounded faint and thready. Now he could smell blood. Anger rose in him and it took all his self-control to temper it down. Not yet.

  
A set of footsteps that were at first foreign to him, but then the memory clicked. The cologne was what was familiar - it was expensive. The man with the glasses.

  
"Ah, another face I know," he called. "Mr Murdock. Is that your only name?"

  
"No. I'm the Devil."

  
"No costume?" came the mocking reply.

  
"I don't need it anymore. Where's Fisk?"

  
He sensed the approach of the two guards, as they came up behind him and zip-tied his hands. He was shoved down into a chair.

  
The man gave a dismissive sniff. "Busy. He has other affairs to deal with and he didn't want to waste any more time on you. I'm just here to clean up the mess."

  
"I thought he was the one who finally stepped out of the shadows and told the truth. But I guess he's still a coward," Matt said.

  
The man with the glasses smiled. "Not a coward. Just smart. Unlike some people. I'm surprised you came here alone."

  
There was the tearing sound of masking tape and the guards set to work on binding his feet, as well. The deep, angry part of Matt knew that he could simply lash out and take down both of them, if he wanted to. But that wasn't what he was here for.

  
"We made a deal. I kept my part of it. Now Fisk keeps his end of it. Let my friend go. He doesn't know anything."

  
"You made a deal with Fisk. Not with me. I think I'll keep him."

  
He could hear Foggy's frightened breathing and it made the anger in him uncurl like a whip. He clenched his fists and forced it to subside.

  
"Tell Fisk he's a liar now, as well as a murderer."

  
"I'm sure he'll rest easy," the man said in a cheerful tone. Then, to the two guards: "Take Mr Nelson away."

  
"No! There was a deal!" he snarled.

  
Matt surged up in the chair and was immediately struck down with a blow. The guards began to kick and punch. One of them hit him in the stomach and he curled up, winded and gasping.  He could hear Foggy's heartbeat grow distant as he was being dragged away. There was no sound of a struggle. Perhaps he was injured, Matt thought, or drugged.

  
"Mr Nelson is no longer my problem. You are my problem," said the man, stepping closer. "There's something you can help us with. In fact, if you agree, I might just be willing to do you a favour."

  
"Let Foggy go. Leave him alive. ...Please."

  
"See what can happen when we ask nicely?" he said. "I think we can find some use for Mr Nelson that doesn't involve dying."

  
That made Matt sink back into the chair with a sigh. He wasn't expecting it when his arm was seized and pinned. His sleeve was pushed back. There was the familiar bite of a needle.

  
"This is wonderful stuff," said the man, "Ensures your compliance and also has the added benefit of causing pain. My employer was insistent on that."

  
He shuddered as the needle was drawn out. Already he could feel a strange numbness spreading from the point of contact. An icy cold coursing through his arm and hand and spreading across his chest. His hand felt leaden and he couldn't will himself to move.

  
Soon after the numbness came the burning.

  
He sensed the man with the glasses step closer, and a chair being pulled up next to him.

  
"Now then," he said, "What else can you tell us?"

* * *

  
Every part of Foggy hurt. He could barely see and there was blood in his hair. He could only stumble forwards as the guards pulled him down the corridor towards an empty room.

  
He'd known Matt would come. He'd known it but he hadn't wanted to believe it. He couldn't describe what he'd felt when he'd seen him walk in - a weird mixture of anger and admiration.

  
_Matt, you idiot, now we're both going to die._

  
All the willpower had gone out of him. He stumbled and fell.

  
The guard yanked his arm. "Stand up!"

  
That was enough of a distraction.

  
The next few minutes happened so quick he could barely absorb it. Something whipped past his ear. There was  a click and a buzzing sound. One of the guards screamed and dropped to the floor. A burning meat smell rose up.   
The other guard also let go of Foggy and started shooting. Bullets hit the wall.

  
Foggy, now on the ground, began to crawl away. He passed the other guard, who was convulsing in some kind of seizure. Almost towards the door. He was halfway to the exit.

  
"Don't move!"

  
The other guard had now turned and was aiming at Foggy. He went very still.

  
Another gunshot rang out, this one from behind. The guard lurched forward with the force of the impact to his shoulder. Another gunshot brought him to his knees. The gun skittered onto the floor, and taking his chance, Foggy lunged for it.  
He stood up, every muscle shaking with adrenaline, and aimed it at the guard.

  
From down the corridor, he heard running footsteps. At first he tensed but then he saw it was Karen coming towards him.

  
"Oh my god, Foggy!" She grabbed him in a hug. For a moment he went weak again, relaxing at the contact of someone who wasn't trying to hurt him.

  
She began fussing over him, smoothing over his bruises and brushing the blood out of his eyes.

  
"Thank god I got here in time."

  
"What - what did you do -"

  
She held up a tazer.

  
"This thing's useful. Ben's tagging along, too, and an old friend of Matt's is dealing with the rest of the guards. We need your help, Foggy. Do you think you can manage it?"

  
"Matt - " he managed to get out, "Is Matt okay?"

  
She winced.

  
"I don't know how much time we have, but if that bastard is as much of a sadist as I think he is, hopefully plenty of time. Let's get going."

  
She put a hand on his shoulder and ushered him down the corridor. As they ran, he saw more evidence of fighting - bullet holes in the walls, another guard lying on the floor.

  
"This is the Trojan horse," she said in a rush. "Matt's got a camera on him. You, me, and Ben, we're going to find a computer."

  
"What computer?"

  
"It's got a record of Fisk's accounts on there. A money trail leading back decades. It's more than enough evidence. We're going to take him down."

  
Foggy followed her lead. Sometimes he didn't know whether he admired Karen or whether he was scared of her.

  
From here, things moved quickly. They met up with Stick outside the warehouse. The old man had managed to singlehandedly take out most of Fisk's guards and leave them writhing in pain. Foggy thought that explained a lot about Matt.

  
"Glad to see you alive, kid," was all Stick said, giving him a rather painful slap on the shoulder.

  
Stick and Karen did most of the shooting because Foggy was still in bad shape. They took out two of the guards that were stationed near the black SUV. Ben ran up to meet them and help them figure out how to get inside.

  
The journalist claimed he was "way too old for this bullshit" but he had that glint in his eye that meant he was enjoying this way too much.

  
As it turned out, Fisk had a complicated and potentially explosive locking mechanism on his car. Ben swore as he sat there fiddling with a lockpick. He took off his glasses and wiped the sweat from his eyes.

  
"Shit," he said. "Sorry, guys, but I don't want to touch this anymore. Haven't ever seen this kind of thing before. We need the keys."

  
"I'll go back for them," Foggy said at once.

  
"You will not! I'll go!"

  
"I'm already injured, so it doesn't matter-"

  
"Are you kidding-"

  
"Listen, kids, we don't have time," Stick snapped. "One of you go get them before this whole plan folds."

  
Before Karen could protest, Foggy was already moving towards the exit.

  
Stick laughed. "I like him. Real determined type."

  
"He's an idiot!" Karen said in horror.

  
"That, too. Go on, run after him. Us old men can hold 'em off till you get back."

  
So Karen followed him.

  
Foggy knelt in front of one of the grimy windows. Peering through, he could see Matt, still tied to the chair. He looked pale and his skin glistened with cold sweat. Blood dripped from his upper lip.

  
"Matt," he whispered, "It's okay. We're here."

  
At first he wasn't sure if Matt heard him, but then he tilted his head in Foggy's direction. He was listening.

  
"Keys, Matt! We need his keys."

  
He hadn't only gotten Matt's attention. One of the guards rounded the corner. He gave a shout of surprise and aimed his gun at Foggy. The barrel of the gun nudged the back of his head against the wall.

  
Once again, Karen came through with the taser. The guard dropped to the floor and started convulsing.

  
Foggy ran to the window again.

  
Matt and the man with the glasses were in conversation again. He must have said something interesting, because the man stepped closer. All of a sudden, Matt wasn't as weak as he appeared. He grabbed the man by the tie and yanked him forwards. They started struggling.

  
In the struggle, Matt pocketed his keys and threw them.

  
It was distraction enough. While the guards were busy subduing Matt, Karen dashed through the entrance, grabbed the keys, and ran.

* * *

 

Matt spat out a mouthful of blood. He was pretty sure there was a tooth in there, too, but he was so spaced out it was hard to tell.

  
He couldn't help but laugh. The man with the glasses looked rattled after his encounter with Matt. He was keeping a respectful distance now, and smoothing back his hair and fiddling with his cufflinks. There was a crack in the lens of his glasses.

  
"You have no bargaining chips left!" the man snarled, "Just for that, I'm going to draw it out. Gao taught me a few things about pain."

  
He picked up a pair of pliers and a jumper lead.

  
"I'm going to personally enjoy this. I think I'll send one of your teeth to Wilson Fisk myself."

  
Matt spat out another bit of blood on the floor and was satisfied when it hit those shiny leather shoes. He was rewarded with a slap to the face.

  
"How'd they get Al Capone?" he said, as he recovered.

  
"What?" The guy's smug smile gave way to annoyance.

  
"Aw, c'mon, you've got to know your criminal history. How'd they get Al Capone?"

  
"Doesn't matter," he snapped, "Al Capone is dead."

  
Matt smiled. "We learn from history so we don't repeat it. Right?"

  
The guy shrugged and started attaching an electrode to Matt's forehead.

  
"You'll be dead too. In five minutes."

Matt tilted his head and smiled to himself.

  
"Do you hear that?"

  
The man slammed down the pliers on the table. " _What?_ " he snapped.

  
"Listen."

  
"...I don't hear anything."

  
"Yeah," said Matt, "It's really quiet. Didn't you have guards around here?

 

He could hear the exact moment that the realization sunk in, when the man's pulse started racing in the familiar rhythm of fear. In daylight it was somehow even more satisfying.

  
The man with the glasses turned, and in an arctic tone, he said: "What have you done?"

  
"I didn't do much, really. I was just bait. My friends did most of the heavy lifting."

  
With a shocking swiftness, he grabbed the pliers and plunged them into Matt's hand. Blood welled around it.

  
" _What have you done?"_

  
Matt didn't even feel it go in. It was weird like that, how the big wounds felt like nothing, but a papercut stung.

He grabbed the man by the tie and leaned in close, and said: "I'll tell you how they got Al Capone. They couldn't get him on murder, so they got him on finances. Income tax evasion. Everyone's got a money trail. So does Fisk. But I think we'll get lucky and get him on murder, too. We've got the laptop. And you were just being streamed online. You're done."

He could smell the sharp spike of fear and hear it in the man's breathing. But then it turned. Matt could tell the moment he decided to kill by the change in his pulse. His breathing dropped down and went dead calm. He surged forwards and grabbed the pliers.

  
A shot rang out.

  
"Shit!" he hissed, and fell to the floor, writhing and cradling his bleeding hand.

  
Karen walked up and kicked him, hard.

  
"God, that was satisfying. All right, Matt, time to go." She reached down and quickly uncut his zip ties with the pliers, then set to work on the masking tape. Matt stood, and lurched forwards. Karen grabbed his arm to steady him. "We've got to get you and Foggy to the nurse right away. Come quick, before Fisk sends anyone else."

  
She hurried him out of the warehouse and into the scalding brightness of daylight. Past the dormant figures of guards towards the waiting car. He was aware, dimly, of other people in there with him, and the doors slamming shut. He sank down into the upholstery of the car as if it was mud dragging him in. The car began to move. They were speeding away from it all. To Matt, speed was relative. He felt like he was floating.

Next to him he heard a familiar heartbeat.

  
He reached out a hand and was relieved to touch another hand, real and warm.

  
"Foggy...?"

  
"Yeah. It's me. We're gonna be just fine, Matt."

  
"Oh, good... When you say it I can believe it..."

  
He leaned his weight against Foggy and felt the warmth seeping through to his skin and he shut his eyes.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha remember how at the beginning I was all: "Only 9 chapters, pffft, easy!"   
> 17 chapters and 20+ k later...
> 
> FINAL CHAPTER AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH HOLY SHIT IT'S ACTUALLY FINISHED I DID IT I FUCKING MADE IT HOLY SHIT. This entire chapter is literally just a giant angsty convo, but it's long overdue. God I hope it's adequate.
> 
> I'm stunned that I actually managed to complete something and get to 'The End' without chickening out halfway through!
> 
> Anyway thank you thank you thank you to all my readers and commenters and kudos-givers. I love you all. Readers are like the entire reason for my existence as a writer tbh (because writing as a medium exists in the transaction, yes? And is given life and meaning in the reader's head.) 
> 
> And also because my ego appreciates the validation, lbr. SERIOUSLY. THANK YOU FOR READING I LOVE YOU GOODNIGHT.
> 
> (Bonus PWP chapter? Y/N?)

Matt woke up at a glacial pace. Bit by bit, his senses returned to him. First the weave of the material under his fingers. A hospital blanket. Then the sharp chemical smell of medical-grade cleaners and antiseptics. The taste of metal in his mouth and the heaviness of his own tongue. And, at last, his sense of hearing. The metronome of the machines. Cars in the distance. The rushing back-and-forth and conversations of nurses in the next ward. And, in the bed near his own, the familiarity of Foggy's heartbeat.

It was a lot nicer than some of his usual awakenings.

  
He stretched his fingers as far as they could go, then relaxed them. He was sore all over, but as Stick always said, sore meant you were still alive.

  
"Hey," said Foggy, "You're awake. I think that's a new record. Twelve hours."

  
"Ugh, it sure feels like it." He felt groggy.

  
"You had it worse than me, man. Whatever you got injected with wasn't pretty."

  
He ran a hand over his face. "Ugh... what's been happening since I've been out?"

  
"Shit's hit the fan. All of those financial records Karen posted, and that video of you getting beaten up - it's all over the internet. Fisk is being investigated. And now we get two federal agents guarding our hospital room."

  
"I'm glad I was asleep."

  
Foggy handed him a plastic cup of water.

  
"You don't have to worry, by the way. They think that you made up that whole Daredevil thing just to draw out Fisk. I was really convincing."

  
Matt rolled out of bed and let his bare feet touch the floor. The feeling of the cold tiles grounded him.

  
"Foggy... I made a promise, to Karen, that once this was all over, I'd tell you the truth."

  
He waited for Foggy's response. It was terrible not being able to see his expression.

  
Foggy said, in an emotionless voice: "Okay. I want to ask you some questions. Just - promise me you'll answer them. And that you'll be honest."

  
Matt took a sip of water, swallowed, and wiped his mouth.

  
"Promise."

  
They talked and talked and talked. Foggy interjected with questions here and there. Matt answered them all honestly. Sometimes their voices rose and they started to get emotional.

  
Matt had just gotten to the part where he'd actually had these cool superpowers for _years and never bothered to tell Foggy_ , and Foggy was just in the middle of telling him what a _fat liar_ he was, when Claire walked in the doorway.  
She strolled in, dumped a wad of bandages in the bin, and managed to look effortless doing it.

  
"Sorry if I'm interrupting your domestic," she said. "You, ah, might wanna keep it down a little. And _you_ , sweetheart, you need to stay in bed for at least one more day." She poked Matt in the shoulder. "Don't wanna see you up and walking yet."

  
Matt swallowed thickly, taken aback by reality intruding on his angst.

  
"Oh... right. Thanks Claire. Thanks for all your help, I mean it, really."

  
Her tone grew more gentle.

  
"No need to thank me, Matt. Good luck with everything."

  
Then she leaned forwards, kissed him on the cheek, and left.

  
Foggy turned away towards the window.

  
"God - I can't believe you told her, _she knew_ , but you couldn't tell _me_ , your best friend -"

  
"Would you have believed me?" Matt retorted, folding his arms. "If I told you I had superpowers, would you seriously have believed me? Come on."

  
"Not at first, no!" he shouted. "But I would have tried. And that's not the point, Matt, the point is you didn't tell me, you didn't trust me enough to - to -"

  
He spluttered, unable to articulate quite what it was he wanted to say. Matt had never seen Foggy lost for words.

  
"Are you jealous? Of Claire?" said Matt, in a more even tone.

  
"Yes," Foggy spat out. "Of _course_ I'm jealous. You've known her for what, a few months, and I've known you since college. I've told you _everything_ Matt, and you've told me nothing. God, you probably knew I was in love with you before I did!"

  
He stopped short at that, realized the words were out and he couldn't get them back.

  
Matt was silent.

  
"Matt?" he said. "You okay?"

  
"Repeat that last bit," Matt said. He was feeling faint.

  
"Which bit?" Foggy snapped. "The bit where I've known you longer, or the bit where I've told you everything?"

  
Matt said: "The bit where you're in love with me."

  
"Oh, come on!" Foggy said. "I've told you this! You can't not have known, I was obvious from day one! You're telling me you didn't pick up on my massive crush on you?"

  
Matt stammered. "I - I thought you were just joking. I thought you moved on. I thought..."

  
"I tried to distance myself, Matt, and it didn't work out. I didn't want to ruin our friendship." Foggy gave a bitter laugh. "I guess we both screwed up on that front, huh?"

  
Matt shook his head.

  
"No... Don't say that. I'll always want to be your friend Foggy. If I didn't value our friendship, I wouldn't have been there in college, I wouldn't have started the firm with you... I understand if you don't want to talk to me anymore. I understand if you don't approve of what I do..."

  
Foggy sighed and sat down next to him on the hospital bed.

  
"Matt, the whole ...thing you do, it doesn't bother me. Honestly, I kind of think this city _needs_ you out there. We wouldn't have taken down Fisk if you hadn't had your crazy idea. The only thing that bothers me is the idea of you getting hurt. Or killed."

  
They sat together in silence. Through the hospital window, dawn light was creeping over the city, gradually rising up over the buildings and reflecting off all the glass and metal. Matt felt it come over him as a warmth - so gradual you barely noticed at first.

Foggy got up to get something, and several minutes later he returned and sat back down next to him.

  
He nudged Matt gently so as not to hurt his still healing ribs.

  
"Hey," he said, settling in. "I've got to admit - I agree, all right? There some things that have to be done, and you're the one to do it. You're a good guy, Matt."

  
"Am I?" Matt said, turning to him. "Am I good?"

  
"I think what you did was stupid. Really, Matt? Going in there alone? Risking your whole identity? Risking your life? I mean, I also think it was pretty brave, and I probably would've tried to do the same for you..."

  
He trailed off, and then leaned over and pushed something into Matt's grasp. It was the mask, now nothing more than a dormant scrap of cloth lying in his hands.

  
Matt let out a sharp breath. Having it there made the whole thing more real, somehow.

  
"How did you get this?"

  
"Karen may have helped me - Anyway. This is yours. They need it. You need it."

  
Matt swallowed and ran a finger over it.

  
"You're sure?"

  
"Sure. Just promise me... Well, I really want you to promise me not to die, but that's a bit unfair-"

  
"I'll break the laws of the known universe just for you, Foggy!"

  
"Just promise me you won't be stupid or reckless, all right? Be careful. Be smart. I know you can be brilliant when you want to be."

  
Matt nodded, then yawned widely and rubbed at his eyes.

  
"And promise me you'll be honest. I'll be honest, too. No more secrets."

  
"Deal. No more secrets. And, Foggy, I understand if at any point... you don't want to do this, if you just want normal - you can walk away. I won't mind."

  
Foggy ruffled his hair.

  
"Matt, please. You would _totally_ mind. Besides - I'm still here, aren't I? I just helped you walk into a gangster's hideout. You're stuck with me now. No take backs."

  
Matt huffed a laugh and leaned his head against Foggy's shoulder.

  
The city, down below, was slowly growing louder, but above it all he could still hear a familiar heartbeat, steady, soothing. He tuned into it and shut his eyes.

  
"Thanks for being my normal, Foggy."

  
"...Thanks for being my batshit weird, Matt," Foggy replied.

  
Matt frowned. "That doesn't sound like a very good deal. No offense."

  
"Eh, it's got it's perks. Secret rendezvous with sexy mysterious strangers. Dramatic stakeouts. Noodles and beer at midnight. Time off work."

  
Foggy squinted as the sun rose higher.

  
"Speaking of the time, I am so tired I feel like I've passed tired and slipped into an alternate dimension. I can't feel my hands, Matt. I need a coffee drip."

  
"Same."

  
Matt yawned, stretched, and winced. As he was about to walk by Foggy, he was met with a fleeting kiss. It took him a minute to realize that this was actually a thing he could do now, and returned the kiss. It was just starting to get interesting when there was a knock on the door.

  
Foggy pulled away and Matt pouted.

  
"C'mon..."

  
"We'll have time for shenanigans later. I think those are federal agents wanting to ask us some questions, which sounds like loads of fun. Also, what are we doing for breakfast?"

  
"Noodles and beer?" Matt suggested.

  
Foggy kissed him again. "Loads better than hospital food. Once we get out of here you owe me a coffee, too."

  
"Deal."

  
They left the hospital room together.


End file.
